The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth
Page 54
“True,” replied Turpin, “and, with a little alteration, my song would suit you capitally:
There is not a king, should you search the world round,
So blithe as the king’s king, Tom King, to be found;
Dear woman’s his empire, each girl is his own,
And he’d have a long reign if he’d let ’em alone.
Ha, ha!”
“Ha, ha!” laughed Tom. “And now, Dick, to change the subject. You are off, I understand, to Yorkshire to-night. ‘Pon my soul, you are a wonderful fellow — an alibi personified! — here and everywhere at the same time — no wonder you are called the flying highwayman. To-day in town — to-morrow at York — the day after at Chester. The devil only knows where you will pitch your quarters a week hence. There are rumors of you in all counties at the same moment. This man swears you robbed him at Hounslow; that on Salisbury Plain; while another avers you monopolize Cheshire and Yorkshire, and that it isn’t safe even to hunt without pops in your pocket. I heard some devilish good stories of you at D’Osyndar’s t’other day; the fellow who told them to me little thought I was a brother blade.”
“You flatter me,” said Dick, smiling complacently; “but it’s no merit of mine. Black Bess alone enables me to do it, and hers be the credit. Talking of being everywhere at the same time, you shall hear what she once did for me in Cheshire. Meantime, a glass to the best mare in England. You won’t refuse that toast, Tom. Ah! if your mistress is only as true to you as my nag to me, you might set at naught the tightest hempen cravat that was ever twisted, and defy your best friend to hurt you. Black Bess! and God bless her! And now for the song.” Saying which, with much emotion, Turpin chanted the following rhymes:
BLACK BESS
Let the lover his mistress’s beauty rehearse,
And laud her attractions in languishing verse;
Be it mine in rude strains, but with truth to express,
The love that I bear to my bonny Black Bess.
From the west was her dam, from the east was her sire,
From the one came her swiftness, the other her fire;
No peer of the realm better blood can possess
Than flows in the veins of my bonny Black Bess.
Look! Look! how that eyeball grows bright as a brand!
That neck proudly arches, those nostrils expand!
Mark! that wide flowing mane! of which each silky tress
Might adorn prouder beauties — though none like Black Bess.
Mark! that skin sleek as velvet, and dusky as night,
With its jet undisfigured by one lock of white;
That throat branched with veins, prompt to charge or caress
Now is she not beautiful? — bonny Black Bess!
Over highway and by-way, in rough and smooth weather,
Some thousands of miles have we journeyed together;
Our couch the same straw, and our meal the same mess
No couple more constant than I and Black Bess.
By moonlight, in darkness, by night, or by day,
Her headlong career there is nothing can stay;
She cares not for distance, she knows not distress:
Can you show me a courser to match with Black Bess?
“Egad! I should think not,” exclaimed King; “you are as sentimental on the subject of your mare, as I am when I think of my darling Susan. But pardon my interruption. Pray proceed.”
“Let me first clear my throat,” returned Dick; “and now to resume:”
Once it happened in Cheshire, near Dunham, I popped
On a horseman alone, whom I speedily stopped;
That I lightened his pockets you’ll readily guess —
Quick work makes Dick Turpin when mounted on Bess.
Now it seems the man knew me; “Dick Turpin,” said he,
“You shall swing for this job, as you live, d’ye see;”
I laughed at his threats and his vows of redress;
I was sure of an alibi then with Black Bess.
The road was a hollow, a sunken ravine,
Overshadowed completely by wood like a screen;
I clambered the bank, and I needs must confess,
That one touch of the spur grazed the side of Black Bess.
Brake, brook, meadow, and plough’d field, Bess fleetly bestrode,
As the crow wings her flight we selected our road;
We arrived at Hough Green in five minutes, or less —
My neck it was saved by the speed of Black Bess.
Stepping carelessly forward, I lounge on the green,
Taking excellent care that by all I am seen;
Some remarks on time’s flight to the squires I address,
But I say not a word of the flight of Black Bess.
I mention the hour — it was just about four —
Play a rubber at bowls — think the danger is o’er;
When athwart my next game, like a checkmate at chess,
Comes the horsemen in search of the rider of Bess.
What matter details? Off with triumph I came;
He swears to the hour, and the squires swear the same;
I had robbed him at four! — while at four they profess
I was quietly bowling — all thanks to Black Bess!
Then one halloo, boys, one loud cheering halloo!
To the swiftest of coursers, the gallant, the true!
For the sportsman unborn shall the memory bless
Of the horse of the highwayman, bonny Black Bess!
Loud acclamations rewarded Dick’s performance. Awakened from his doze, Zoroaster beat time to the melody, the only thing, Jerry said, he was capable of beating in his present shattered condition. After some little persuasion, the Magus was prevailed upon to enliven the company with a strain, which he trolled forth after a maudlin manner:
THE DOUBLE CROSS
Though all of us have heard of crostfights,
And certain gains, by certain lost fights,
I rather fancies that it’s news,
How in a mill, both men should lose;
For vere the odds are thus made even,
It plays the dickens with the steven;
Besides, against all rule they’re sinning,
Vere neither has no chance of vinning.
Ri, tol, lol, &c.
Two milling coves, each vide avake,
Vere backed to fight for heavy stake:
But in the mean time, so it vos,
Both kids agreed to play a cross;
Bold came each buffer to the scratch,
To make it look a tightish match;
They peeled in style, and bets vere making,
‘Tvos six to four, but few vere taking.
Ri, tol, lol, &c.
Quite cautiously the mill began,
For neither knew the other’s plan;
Each cull completely in the dark,
Of vot might be his neighbor’s mark;
Resolved his fibbing not to mind,
Nor yet to pay him back in kind;
So on each other kept they tout,
And sparred a bit, and dodged about,
Ri, tol, lol, &c.
Vith mawleys raised, Tom bent his back,
As if to plant a heavy thwack:
Vile Jem, with neat left-handed stopper,
Straight threatened Tommy with a topper;
’Tis all my eye! no claret flows,
No facers sound — no smashing blows —
Five minutes pass, yet not a hit,
How can it end, pals? — vait a bit.
Ri, tol, lol, &c.
Each cove vas teazed with double duty,
To please his backers, yet play booty;
Ven, luckily for Jem, a teller
Vos planted right upon his smeller;
Down dropped he, stunned; ven time vas called,
Seconds in vain the seconds bawled;
The mill is o’er, the crosser crost,
The loser’
s von, the vinner’s lost!
Ri, tol, lol, &c.
The party assumed once more a lively air, and the glass was circulated so freely, that at last a final charge drained the ample bowl of its contents.
“The best of friends must part,” said Dick; “and I would willingly order another whiff of punch, but I think we have all had enough to satisfy us, as you milling coves have it, Zory! Your one eye has got a drop in it already, old fellow; and, to speak the truth, I must be getting into the saddle without more delay, for I have a long ride before me. And now, friend Jerry, before I start, suppose you tip us one of your merry staves; we haven’t heard your pipe to-day, and never a cross cove of us all can throw off so prime a chant as yourself. A song! a song!”
“Ay, a song!” reiterated King and the Magus.
“You do me too much honor, gemmen,” said Jerry, modestly, taking a pinch of snuff; “I am sure I shall be most happy. My chants are all of a sort. You must make all due allowances — hem!” And, clearing his throat, he forthwith warbled:
THE MODERN GREEK
(Not translated from the Romaic.)
Come, gemmen, name, and make your game,
See, round the ball is spinning.
Black, red, or blue, the colors view,
Une, deux, cinque, ’tis beginning,
Then make your game,
The color name,
While round the ball is spinning.
This sleight of hand my flat shall land
While covered by my bonnet,
I plant my ball, and boldly call,
Come make your game upon it!
Thus rat-a-tat!
I land my flat!
’Tis black — not red — is winning.
At gay roulette was never met
A lance like mine for bleeding!
I’m ne’er at fault, at nothing halt,
All other legs preceding.
To all awake,
I never shake
A mag unless I nip it.
Blind-hookey sees how well I squeeze
The well-packed cards in shuffling.
Ecarté, whist, I never missed,
A nick the broads while ruffling.
Mogul or loo,
The same I do,
I am down to trumps as trippet!
French hazard ta’en, I nick the main,
Was ne’er so prime a caster.
No crabs for me, I’m fly, d’ye see;
The bank shall change its master.
Seven quatre, trois,
The stakes are high!
Ten mains! ten mains are mine, pals!
At Rouge et Noir, you hellite choir
I’ll make no bones of stripping;
One glorious coup for me shall do,
While they may deal each pip in.
Trente-un-après
Ne’er clogs my way;
The game — the game’s divine, pals.
At billiards set, I make my bet,
I’ll score and win the rub, pals;
I miss my cue, my hazard, too,
But yet my foe I’ll drub, pals.
That cannon-twist,
I ne’er had missed,
Unless to suit my views, pals.
To make all right, the match look tight,
This trick, you know, is done, pals;
But now be gay, I’ll show my play —
Hurrah! the game is won, pals.
No hand so fine,
No wrist like mine,
No odds I e’er refuse, pals.
Then choose your game; whate’er you name,
To me alike all offers;
Chic-hazard, whist, whate’er you list,
Replenish quick your coffers.
Thus, rat-a-tat!
I land my flat!
To every purse I speak, pals.
Cramped boxes ‘ware, all’s right and fair,
Barred balls I bar when goaded;
The deuce an ace is out of place!
The deuce a die is loaded!
Then make your game,
Your color name;
Success attend the Greek, pals.
“Bravo, Jerry — bravissimo!” chorused the party.
“And now, pals, farewell! — a long farewell!” said Dick, in a tone of theatrical valediction. “As I said before, the best friends must separate. We may soon meet again, or we now may part forever. We cannot command our luck; but we can make the best of the span allotted to us. You have your game to play. I have mine. May each of us meet with the success he deserves.”
“Egad! I hope not,” said King. “I’m afraid, in that case, the chances would be against us.”
“Well, then, the success we anticipate, if you prefer it,” rejoined Dick. “I have only to observe one thing more, namely, that I must insist upon standing Sam upon the present occasion. Not a word. I won’t hear a syllable. Landlord, I say — what oh!” continued Dick, stepping out of the arbor. “Here, my old Admiral of the White, what’s the reckoning? — what’s to pay, I say?”
“Let ye know directly, sir,” replied mine host of the Falstaff.
“Order my horse — the black mare,” added Dick.
“And mine,” said King, “the sorrel colt. I’ll ride with you a mile or two on the road, Dick; perhaps we may stumble upon something.”
“Very likely.”
“We meet at twelve, at D’Osyndar’s, Jerry,” said King, “if nothing happens.”
“Agreed,” responded Juniper.
“What say you to a rubber at bowls, in the mean time?” said the Magus, taking his everlasting pipe from his lips.
Jerry nodded acquiescence. And while they went in search of the implements of the game, Turpin and King sauntered gently on the green.
It was a delicious evening. The sun was slowly declining, and glowed like a ball of fire amid the thick foliage of a neighboring elm. Whether, like the robber Moor, Tom King was touched by this glorious sunset, we pretend not to determine. Certain it was that a shade of inexpressible melancholy passed across his handsome countenance, as he gazed in the direction of Harrow-on-the Hill, which, lying to the west of the green upon which they walked, stood out with its pointed spire and lofty college against the ruddy sky. He spoke not. But Dick noticed the passing emotion.
“What ails you, Tom?” said he, with much kindness of manner— “are you not well, lad?”
“Yes, I am well enough,” said King; “I know not what came over me, but looking at Harrow, I thought of my school days, and what I was then, and that bright prospect reminded me of my boyish hopes.”
“Tut — tut,” said Dick, “this is idle — you are a man now.”
“I know I am,” replied Tom, “but I have been a boy. Had I any faith in presentiments, I should say this is the last sunset I shall ever see.”
“Here comes our host,” said Dick, smiling. “I’ve no presentiment that this is the last bill I shall ever pay.”
The bill was brought and settled. As Turpin paid it, the man’s conduct was singular, and awakened his suspicions.
“Are our horses ready?” asked Dick, quickly.
“They are, sir,” said the landlord.
“Let us be gone,” whispered Dick to King; “I don’t like this fellow’s manner. I thought I heard a carriage draw up at the inn door just now — there may be danger. Be fly!” added he to Jerry and the Magus. “Now, sir,” said he to the landlord, “lead the way. Keep on the alert, Tom.”
Dick’s hint was not lost upon the two bowlers. They watched their comrades; and listened intently for any manifestation of alarm.
* * *
CHAPTER III. — A SURPRISE
Was this well done, Jenny? — Captain Macheath.
WHILE Turpin and King are walking across the bowling-green, we will see what has taken place outside the inn. Tom’s presentiments of danger were not, it appeared, without foundation. Scarcely had the ostler brought forth our two highwaymen’s steeds, when a post-chaise, escorted by two
or three horsemen, drove furiously up to the door. The sole occupant of the carriage was a lady, whose slight and pretty figure was all that could be distinguished, her face being closely veiled. The landlord, who was busied in casting up Turpin’s account, rushed forth at the summons. A word or two passed between him and the horsemen, upon which the former’s countenance fell. He posted in the direction of the garden; and the horsemen instantly dismounted.
“We have him now, sure enough,” said one of them, a very small man, who looked, in his boots, like Buckle equipped for the Oaks.
“By the powers! I begin to think so,” replied the other horseman. “But don’t spoil all, Mr. Coates, by being too precipitate.”
“Never fear that, Mr. Tyrconnel,” said Coates; for it was the gallant attorney: “he’s sure to come for his mare. That’s a trap certain to catch him, eh, Mr. Paterson? With the chief constable of Westminster to back us, the devil’s in it if we are not a match for him.”
“And for Tom King, too,” replied the chief constable; “since his blowen’s peached, the game’s up with him, too. We’ve long had an eye upon him, and now we’ll have a finger. He’s one of your dashing trouts to whom we always give a long line, but we’ll land him this time, anyhow. If you’ll look after Dick Turpin, gemmen, I’ll make sure of Tom.”
“I’d rather you would help us, Mr. Paterson,” said Coates; “never mind Tom King; another time will do for him.”
“No such thing,” said Paterson; “one weighs just as much for that matter as t’other. I’ll take Tom to myself, and surely you two, with the landlord and ostler, can manage Turpin amongst you.”
“I don’t know that,” said Coates, doubtfully; “he’s a devil of a fellow to deal with.”
“Take him quietly,” said Paterson. “Draw the chaise out of the way, lad. Take our tits to one side, and place their nags near the door, ostler. Shall you be able to see him, ma’am, where you are?” asked the chief constable, walking to the carriage, and touching his hat to the lady within. Having received a satisfactory nod from the bonnet and veil, he returned to his companions. “And now, gemmen,” added he, “let’s step aside a little. Don’t use your fire-arms too soon.”