The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  The wise convey it call.

  He began to look about for hands; and having accidentally encountered his old comrades, Rust and Wilder, they were let into the business, which was imperfectly accomplished in the manner heretofore described.

  To return from this digression. When Turpin presented himself at the threshold of the door, on his way to inquire after his mare, to his astonishment he found it closely invested. A cheering shout from the tawny throng, succeeded by a general clapping of hands, and attended by a buzzing susurration of applause, such as welcomes the entrance of a popular actor upon the stage, greeted the appearance of the highwayman. At the first sight of the crowd he was a little startled, and involuntarily sought for his pistols. But the demonstrations of admiration were too unequivocal to be for a moment mistaken; his hand was drawn from his pocket to raise his hat from his brow.

  Thunders of applause.

  Turpin’s external man, we have before said, was singularly prepossessing. It was especially so in the eyes of the sex — fair we certainly cannot say upon the present occasion — , amongst whom not a single dissentient voice was to be heard. All concurred in thinking him a fine fellow; could plainly read his high courage in his bearing; his good breeding in his débonnaire deportment; and his manly beauty in his extravagant red whiskers. Dick saw the effect that he produced. He was at home in a moment. Your true highwayman has ever a passion for effect. This does not desert him at the gallows; it rises superior to death itself, and has been known to influence the manner of his dangling from the gibbet! To hear some one cry, “There goes a proper handsome man,” saith our previously quoted authority, Jack Hall, “somewhat ameliorates the terrible thoughts of the meagre tyrant death; and to go in a dirty shirt were enough to save the hangman a labor, and make a man die with grief and shame at being in that deplorable condition.” With a gracious smile of condescension, like a popular orator — with a look of blarney like that of O’Connell, and of assurance like that of Hume — he surveyed the male portion of the spectators, tipped a knowing wink at the prettiest brunettes he could select, and finally cut a sort of fling with his well-booted legs, that brought down another appeal of rapturous applause.

  “A rank scamp!” cried the upright man; and this exclamation, however equivocal it may sound, was intended, on his part, to be highly complimentary.

  “I believe ye,” returned the ruffler, stroking his chin— “one may see that he’s no half swell by the care with which he cultivates the best gifts of nature, his whiskers. He’s a rank nib.”

  “Togged out to the ruffian, no doubt,” said the palliard, who was incomparably the shabbiest rascal in the corps. “Though a needy mizzler mysel, I likes to see a cove vot’s vel dressed. Jist twig his swell kickseys and pipes; if they ain’t the thing, I’m done. Lame Harry can’t dance better nor he — no, nor Jerry Juniper neither.”

  “I’m dumb founded,” roared the dummerar, “if he can’t patter romany as vel as the best on us! He looks like a rum ‘un.”

  “And a rum ‘un he be, take my word for it,” returned the whip-jack, or sham sailor. “Look at his rigging — see how he flashes his sticks — those are the tools to rake a three-decker. He’s as clever a craft as I’ve seen this many a day, or I’m no judge.”

  The women were equally enchanted — equally eloquent in the expression of their admiration.

  “What ogles!” cried a mort.

  “What pins!” said an autem mort, or married woman.

  “Sharp as needles,” said a dark-eyed dell, who had encountered one of the free and frolicsome glances which our highwayman distributed so liberally among the petticoats.

  It was at this crisis Dick took off his hat. Cæsar betrayed his baldness.

  “A thousand pities!” cried the men, compassionating his thinly covered skull, and twisting their own ringlets, glossy and luxuriant, though unconscious of Macassar. “A thousand pities that so fine a fellow should have a sconce like a cocoanut!”

  “But then his red whiskers,” rejoined the women, tired of the uniformity of thick black heads of hair; “what a warmth of coloring they impart to his face; and then only look how beautifully bushy they make his cheeks appear!”

  La Fosseuse and the court of the Queen of Navarre were not more smitten with the Sieur de Croix’s jolly pair of whiskers.

  The hawk’s eye of Turpin ranged over the whole assemblage. Amidst that throng of dark faces there was not one familiar to him.

  Before him stood the upright man, Zoroaster — so was he called — , a sturdy, stalwart rogue, whose superior strength and stature — as has not unfrequently been the case in the infancy of governments that have risen to more importance than is likely to be the case with that of Lesser Egypt — had been the means of his elevation to his present dignified position. Zoroaster literally fought his way upwards, and had at first to maintain his situation by the strong arm; but he now was enabled to repose upon his hard-won laurels, to smoke “the calumet of peace,” and quaff his tipple with impunity. For one of gipsy blood, he presented an unusually jovial, liquor-loving countenance: his eye was mirthful; his lip moist, as if from oft potations; his cheek mellow as an Orleans plum, which fruit, in color and texture, it mightily resembled. Strange to say, also, for one of that lithe race, his person was heavy and hebetudinous; the consequence, no doubt, of habitual intemperance. Like Cribb, he waxed obese upon the championship. There was a kind of mock state in his carriage, as he placed himself before Turpin, and with his left hand twisted up the tail of his dressing-gown, while the right thrust his truncheon into his hip, which was infinitely diverting to the highwayman.

  Turpin’s attention, however, was chiefly directed towards his neighbor, the ruffler, in whom he recognized a famous impostor of the day, with whose history he was sufficiently well acquainted to be able at once to identify the individual. We have before stated, that a magnificent coal-black beard decorated the chin of this worthy; but this was not all — his costume was in perfect keeping with his beard, and consisted of a very theatrical-looking tunic, upon the breast of which was embroidered, in golden wire, the Maltese cross; while over his shoulders were thrown the folds of an ample cloak of Tyrian hue. To his side was girt a long and doughty sword, which he termed, in his knightly phrase, Excalibur; and upon his profuse hair rested a hat as broad in the brim as a Spanish sombrero.

  Exaggerated as this description may appear, we can assure our readers that it is not overdrawn; and that a counterpart of the sketch we have given of the ruffler certainly “strutted his hour” upon the stage of human life, and that the very ancient and discriminating city of Canterbury — to which be all honor — was his theatre of action. His history is so far curious, that it exemplifies, more strongly than a thousand discourses could do, how prone we are to be governed by appearances, and how easily we may be made the dupes of a plausible impostor. Be it remembered, however, that we treat of the eighteenth century, before the march of intellect had commenced; we are much too knowing to be similarly practised upon in these enlightened times. But we will let the knight of Malta, for such was the title assumed by the ruffler, tell his own story in his own way hereafter; contenting ourselves with the moral precepts we have already deduced from it.

  Next to the knight of Malta stood the whip-jack, habited in his sailor gear — striped shirt and dirty canvas trousers; and adjoining him was the palliard, a loathsome tatterdemalion, his dress one heap of rags, and his discolored skin one mass of artificial leprosy and imposthumes.

  As Turpin’s eye shifted from one to another of these figures, he chanced upon an individual who had been long endeavoring to arrest his attention. This personage was completely in the background. All that Dick could discern of him was a brown curly head of hair, carelessly arranged in the modern mode; a handsome, impudent, sun-freckled face, with one eye closed, and the other occupied by a broken bottle-neck, through which, as a substitute for a lorgnette, the individual reconnoitered him. A cocked hat was placed in a very dégagée manner un
der his arm, and he held an ebony cane in his hand, very much in the style of a “fassionable,” as the French have it, of the present day. This glimpse was sufficient to satisfy Turpin. He recognized in this whimsical personage an acquaintance.

  Jerry Juniper was what the classical Captain Grose would designate a “gentleman with three outs,” and, although he was not entirely without wit, nor, his associates avouched, without money, nor, certainly, in his own opinion, had that been asked, without manners; yet was he assuredly without shoes, without stockings, without shirt. This latter deficiency was made up by a voluminous cravat, tied with proportionately large bows. A jaunty pair of yellow breeches, somewhat faded; a waistcoat of silver brocade, richly embroidered, somewhat tarnished and lack-lustre; a murrey-colored velvet coat, somewhat chafed, completed the costume of this beggar Brummell, this mendicant macaroni!

  Jerry Juniper was a character well known at the time, as a constant frequenter of all races, fairs, regattas, ship-launches, bull-baits, and prize-fights, all of which he attended, and to which he transported himself with an expedition little less remarkable than that of Turpin. You met him at Epsom, at Ascot, at Newmarket, at Doncaster, at the Roodee of Chester, at the Curragh of Kildare. The most remote as well as the most adjacent meeting attracted him. The cock-pit was his constant haunt, and in more senses than one was he a leg. No opera-dancer could be more agile, more nimble; scarcely, indeed, more graceful, than was Jerry, with his shoeless and stockingless feet; and the manner in which he executed a pirouette, or a pas, before a line of carriages, seldom failed to procure him “golden opinions from all sorts of dames.” With the ladies, it must be owned, Jerry was rather upon too easy terms; but then, perhaps, the ladies were upon too easy terms with Jerry; and if a bright-eyed fair one condescended to jest with him, what marvel if he should sometimes slightly transgress the laws of decorum. These aberrations, however, were trifling; altogether he was so well known, and knew everybody else so well, that he seldom committed himself; and, singular to say, could on occasions even be serious. In addition to his other faculties, no one cut a sly joke, or trolled a merry ditty, better than Jerry. His peculiarities, in short, were on the pleasant side, and he was a general favorite in consequence.

  No sooner did Jerry perceive that he was recognized, than, after kissing his hand, with the air of a petit-ma tre, to the highwayman, he strove to edge his way through the crowd. All his efforts were fruitless; and, tired of a situation in the rear rank, so inconsistent, he conceived, with his own importance, he had recourse to an expedient often practised with success in harlequinades, and not unfrequently in real life, where a flying leap is occasionally taken over our heads. He ran back a few yards to give himself an impetus, returned, and, placing his hands upon the shoulders of a stalwart vagabond near to him, threw a summerset upon the broad cap of a palliard, who was so jammed in the midst that he could not have stirred to avoid the shock; thence, without pausing, he vaulted forwards, and dropped lightly upon the ground in front of Zoroaster, and immediately before the highwayman.

  Dick laughed immoderately at Jerry’s manoeuvre. He shook his old chum cordially by the hand, saying, in a whisper, “What the devil brings you here, Jerry?”

  “I might retort, and ask you that question, Captain Turpin,” replied Jerry, sotto voce. “It is odd to see me here, certainly — quite out of my element — lost amongst this canaille — this Canting Crew — all the fault of a pair of gipsy eyes, bright as a diamond, dark as a sloe. You comprehend — a little affair, ha! Liable to these things. Bring your ear closer, my boy; be upon your guard — keep a sharp look out — there’s a devil of a reward upon your head — I won’t answer for all those rascals.”

  “Thank you for the hint, Jerry,” replied Dick, in the same tone. “I calculated my chances pretty nicely when I came here. But if I should perceive any symptoms of foul play — any attempt to snitch or nose, amongst this pack of peddlers — I have a friend or two at hand, who won’t be silent upon the occasion. Rest assured I shall have my eye upon the gnarling scoundrels. I won’t be sold for nothing.”

  “Trust you for that,” returned Juniper, with a wink. “Stay,” added he; “a thought strikes me. I have a scheme in petto which may, perhaps, afford you some fun, and will, at all events, insure your safety during your stay.”

  “What is it?” asked Dick.

  “Just amuse yourself with a flirtation for a moment or two with that pretty damsel, who has been casting her ogles at you for the last five minutes without success, while I effect a master-stroke.”

  And as Turpin, nothing loth, followed his advice, Jerry addressed himself to Zoroaster. After a little conference, accompanied by that worthy and the knight of Malta, the trio stepped forward from the line, and approached Dick, when Juniper, assuming some such attitude as our admirable Jones, the comedian, is wont to display, delivered himself of the following address. Turpin listened with the gravity of one of the distinguished persons alluded to, at the commencement of the present chapter, upon their receiving the freedom of the city at the hands of a mayor and corporation. Thus spoke Jerry:

  “Highest of High-Tobymen! rummest of rum Padders, and most scampish of Scampsmen! We, in the name of Barbara, our most tawny queen; in the name of Zoroaster, our Upright Man, Dimber Damber, or Olli Campolli, by all which titles his excellency is distinguished; in our own respective names, as High Pads and Low Pads, Rum Gills and Queer Gills, Patricos, Palliards, Priggers, Whip-Jacks, and Jarkmen, from the Arch Rogue to the Needy Mizzler, fully sensible of the honor you have conferred upon us in gracing Stop-Hole Abbey with your presence; and conceiving that we can in no way evince our sense of your condescension so entirely as by offering you the freedom of our crew, together with the privileges of an Upright Man, which you may be aware are considerable, and by creating you an honorary member of the Vagrant Club, which we have recently established; and in so doing, we would fain express the sentiments of gratification and pride which we experience in enrolling among our members one who has extended the glory of roguery so widely over the land, and who has kicked up such a dust upon the highways of England, as most effectually to blind the natives — one who is in himself a legion — of highwaymen! Awaiting, with respectful deference, the acquiescence of Captain Richard Turpin, we beg to tender him the freedom of our crew.”

  “Really, gentlemen,” said Turpin, who did not exactly see the drift of this harangue, “you do me a vast deal of honor. I am quite at a loss to conceive how I can possibly have merited so much attention at your hands; and, indeed, I feel myself so unworthy — —” Here Dick received an expressive wink from Juniper, and therefore thought it prudent to alter his expression. “Could I suppose myself at all deserving of so much distinction,” continued the modest speaker, “I should at once accept your very obliging offer; but — —”

  “None so worthy,” said the upright man.

  “Can’t hear of a refusal,” said the knight of Malta.

  “Refusal — impossible!” reiterated Juniper.

  “No; no refusal,” exclaimed a chorus of voices. “Dick Turpin must be one of us. He shall be our dimber damber.”

  “Well, gentlemen, since you are so pressing,” replied Turpin, “even so be it. I will be your dimber damber.”

  “Bravo! bravo!” cried the mob, not “of gentlemen.”

  “About it, pals, at once,” said the knight of Malta, flourishing Excalibur. “By St. Thomas à Becket, we’ll have as fine a scene as I myself ever furnished to the Canterbury lieges.”

  “About what?” asked Dick.

  “Your matriculation,” replied Jerry. “There are certain forms to be gone through, with an oath to be taken, merely a trifle. We’ll have a jolly booze when all’s over. Come bing avast, my merry pals; to the green, to the green: a Turpin! a Turpin! a new brother!”

  “A Turpin! a Turpin! a new brother!” echoed the crew.

  “I’ve brought you through,” said Jerry, taking advantage of the uproar that ensued to whisper to his chum;
“none of them will dare to lift a finger against you now. They are all your friends for life.”

  “Nevertheless,” returned Turpin, “I should be glad to know what has become of Bess.”

  “If it’s your prancer you are wanting,” chirped a fluttering creature, whom Turpin recognized as Luke’s groom, Grasshopper, “I gave her a fresh loaf and a stoup of stingo, as you bade me, and there she be, under yon tree, as quiet as a lamb.”

  “I see her,” replied Turpin; “just tighten her girths, Grasshopper, and bring her after me, and thou shalt have wherewithal to chirp over thy cups at supper.”

  Away bounded the elfin dwarf to execute his behest.

  A loud shout now rent the skies, and presently afterwards was heard the vile scraping of a fiddle, accompanied by the tattoo of a drum. Approaching Turpin, a host of gipsies elevated the highwayman upon their shoulders, and in this way he was carried to the centre of the green, where the long oaken table, which had once served the Franciscans for refection, was now destined for the stage of the pageant.

  Upon this table three drums were placed; and Turpin was requested to seat himself on the central one. A solemn prelude, more unearthly than the incantation in the Freyschütz, was played by the orchestra of the band, conducted by the Paganini of the place, who elicited the most marvellous notes from his shell. A couple of shawms emitted sepulchral sounds, while the hollow rolling of a drum broke ever and anon upon the ear. The effect was prodigiously fine. During this overture the patrico and the upright man had ascended the rostrum, each taking his place; the former on the right hand of Turpin, the latter upon his left. Below them stood the knight of Malta, with Excalibur drawn in his hand, and gleaming in the sunshine. On the whole, Dick was amused with what he saw, and with the novel situation in which he found himself placed. Around the table were congregated a compact mass of heads; so compact, indeed, that they looked like one creature — an Argus, with each eye upturned upon the highwayman. The idea struck Turpin that the restless mass of parti-colored shreds and patches, of vivid hues and varied tintings, singularly, though accidentally, disposed to produce such an effect, resembled an immense tiger-moth, or it might be a Turkey carpet spread out upon the grass!