Cari.
I will not die; I must not. I am contracted
To a young gentleman.
Executioner.
Here's your wedding-ring.
Duchess of Malfy.
Slowly did the train descend; solemnly and in silence, as if the rites at which they were about to assist had been those of funereal, and not of nuptial, solemnization. Indeed, to look upon those wild and fierce faces by the ruddily-flashing torchlight, which lent to each a stern and savage expression; to see those scowling visages surrounding a bride from whose pallid cheeks every vestige of color, and almost of animation, had fled; and a bridegroom, with a countenance yet more haggard, and demeanor yet more distracted--the beholder must have imagined that the spectacle was some horrible ceremonial, practised by demons rather than human beings. The arched vault, the pillars, the torchlight, the deep shadows, and the wild figures, formed a picture worthy of Rembrandt or Salvator.
Is Sybil within the chapel? asked Barbara.
I am here, returned a voice from the altar.
Why do we tarry? said the gipsy queen. "We are all assembled. To the altar."
To the altar! shrieked Eleanor. "Oh! no--no----"
Remember my threat, and obey, muttered Barbara. "You are in my power now."
A convulsive sob was all the answer Eleanor could make.
Our number is not complete, said the priest, who had looked in vain for the sexton. "Peter Bradley is not with us."
Ha! exclaimed Barbara. "Let him be sought for instantly."
Their search need not extend beyond this spot, said Peter, stepping forward.
The knight of Malta advanced towards the altar. The torchlight reddened upon the huge stone pillars. It fell upon the shrine, and upon the ghastly countenance of Sybil, who stood beside it. Suddenly, as the light approached her, an object, hitherto hidden from view, was revealed. Sybil uttered a prolonged and fearful shriek; the knight recoiled likewise in horror; and a simultaneous cry of astonishment burst from the lips of the foremost of the group. All crowded forwards, and universal consternation prevailed amongst the assemblage. Each one gazed at his neighbor, anxious to learn the occasion of this tumult, and vague fears were communicated to those behind, from the terrified glances, which were the only answers returned by their comrades in front.
Who has dared to bring that body here? demanded Barbara, in a tone in which anger struggled with apprehension, pointing at the same time to the ghastly corpse of a female, with streaming hair, at the altar's feet. "Who has dared to do this, I say? Quick! remove it. What do you stare at? Cravens! is this the first time you have looked upon a corpse, that you should shrink aghast--that you tremble before it? It is a clod--ay, less than a clod. Away with it! away, I say."
Touch it not, cried Luke, lifting a cloud of black hair from off the features; "it is my mother's body."
My daughter! exclaimed the sexton.
What! vociferated Barbara, "is that your daughter--is that the first Lady Rookwood? Are the dead arisen to do honor to these nuptials? Speak! you can, perchance, explain how she came hither."
I know not, returned Peter, glancing fiercely at Barbara; "I may, anon, demand that question of you. How came this body here?"
Ask of Richard Checkley, said Barbara, turning to the priest. "He can, perchance, inform you. Priest," added she, in a low voice, "this is your handiwork."
Checkley! screamed Peter. "Is that Richard Checkley? is that----"
Peace! thundered Barbara; "will none remove the body? Once more I ask you, do you fear the dead?"
A murmur arose. Balthazar alone ventured to approach the corpse.
Luke started to his feet as he advanced, his eyes glaring with tiger fury.
Back, old man, cried he, "and dare not, any of you, to lay a sacrilegious finger on her corse, or I will stretch him that advances as lowly as lies my mother's head. When or how it came hither matters not. Here, at the altar, has it been placed, and none shall move it hence. The dead shall witness my nuptials. Fate has ordained it--my fate! o'er which the dead preside. Her ring shall link me to my bride. I knew not, when I snatched it from her death-cold finger, to what end I preserved it. I learn it now. It is here." And he held forth a ring.
'Tis a fatal boon, that twice-used ring, cried Sybil; "such a ring my mother, on her death-bed, said should be mine. Such a ring she said should wed me----"
Unto whom? fiercely demanded Luke.
UNTO DEATH! she solemnly rejoined.
Luke's countenance fell. He turned aside, deeply abashed, unable further to brook her gaze; while in accents of such wildly touching pathos as sank into the hearts of each who heard her--hearts, few of them framed of penetrable stuff--the despairing maiden burst into the following strain:
THE TWICE-USED RING
Beware thy bridal day!
On her death-bed sighed my mother;
"Beware, beware, I say, Death shall wed thee, and no other. Cold the hand shall grasp thee, Cold the arms shall clasp thee, Colder lips thy kiss shall smother! Beware thy bridal kiss! Thy wedding ring shall be
"From a clay-cold finger taken;
From one that, like to thee,
Was by her love forsaken.
For a twice-used ring
Is a fatal thing;
Her griefs who wore it are partaken--,
Beware that fatal ring!
"
The altar and the grave Many steps are not asunder; Bright banners o'er thee wave, Shrouded horror lieth under. Blithe may sound the bell, Yet 'twill toll thy knell; Scathed thy chaplet by the thunder-- Beware that blighted wreath!
"
Beware my bridal day!
Dying lips my doom have spoken;
Deep tones call me away;
From the grave is sent a token.
Cold, cold fingers bring
That ill-omen'd ring;
Soon will a second heart be broken;
This is my bridal day.
There was a deep, profound silence as the last melancholy cadence died away, and many a rugged heart was melted, even to tears. Eleanor, meanwhile, remained in a state of passive stupefaction, vacantly gazing at Sybil, upon whom alone her eyes were fixed, and appearing indistinctly to apprehend the meaning of her song.
This is my bridal day, murmured she, in a low tone, when Sybil had finished. "Said not that sweet voice so? I know 'tis my bridal day. What a church you have chosen, mother! A tomb--a sepulchre--but 'tis meet for such nuptials as mine--and what wedding guests! Was that pale woman in her shroud-like dress invited here by you? Tell me that, mother."
My God, her senses are gone! cried Mrs. Mowbray. "Why did I venture into this horrible place?"
Ask not why now, madam, rejoined the priest. "The hour for consideration is past. We must act. Let the marriage proceed, at all hazards; we will then take means to extricate ourselves from this accursed place."
Remove that horrible object, said Mrs. Mowbray; "it fascinates the vision of my child."
Lend me your hand, Richard Checkley, said Peter, sternly regarding the priest.
No, no, replied the priest, shuddering; "I will not, cannot touch it. Do you alone remove it."
Peter approached Luke. The latter now offered no further opposition, and the body was taken away. The eyes of Eleanor followed it into the dark recesses of the vault; and when she could no longer distinguish the white flutter of the cereclothes, her laboring bosom seemed torn asunder with the profound sigh that burst from it, and her head declined upon her shoulder.
Let me see that ring, said the priest, addressing Luke, who still held the wedding-ring between his fingers.
I am not naturally superstitious, said Mrs. Mowbray; "whether my mind be affected with the horrors of this place, I know not; but I have a dread of that ring. She shall not use it."
Where no other can be found, said the priest, with a significant and peculiar look at Mrs. Mowbray, "I see no reason why this should be rejected. I should not have suspected you, madam, of such weakness. Grant there were evil spell, or charm, attached to it, which, trust me, there is not--as how should there be, to a harmless piece of gold?--my benediction, and aspersion with holy lymph, will have sufficient power to exorcise and expel it. To remove your fears it shall be done at once."
A cup containing water was brought, together with a plate of salt--which condiment the devil is said to abhor, and which is held to be a symbol of immortality and of eternity; in that, being itself incorruptible, it preserves all else from corruption,--and, with the customary Romish formula of prayer and exorcism, the priest thrice mingled the crystal particles with the pure fluid; after which, taking the ring in his hand with much solemnity, he sprinkled it with a few drops of the water which he had blessed; made the sign of the cross upon the golden circlet; uttered another and more potent exorcism to eradicate and expel every device of Satan, and delivered it back to Luke.
She may wear it now in safety, said the sexton, with strong contempt. "Were the snake himself coiled round that consecrated bauble, the prayers of the devout Father Checkley would unclasp his lithest folds. But wherefore do we tarry now? Naught lies between us and the altar. The path is clear. The bridegroom grows impatient."
And the bride? asked Barbara.
Is ready, replied the priest. "Madam, delay not longer. Daughter, your hand."
Eleanor gave her hand. It was clammy and cold. Supported by her mother, she moved slowly towards the altar, which was but a few steps from where they stood. She offered no resistance, but did not raise her head. Luke was by her side. Then for the first time did the enormity of the cruel, dishonorable act he was about to commit, strike him with its full force. He saw it in its darkest colors. It was one of those terrible moments when the headlong wheel of passion stands suddenly still.
There is yet time, groaned he. "Oh! let me not damn myself perpetually! Let me save her; save Sybil; save myself."
They were at the altar--that wild wedding train. High over head the torch was raised. The red light flashed on bridegroom and on bride, giving to the pale features of each an almost livid look; it fell upon the gaunt aspect of the sexton, and lit up the smile of triumphant malice that played upon his face; it fell upon the fantastical habiliments of Barbara, and upon the haughty but perturbed physiognomy of Mrs. Mowbray; it fell upon the salient points of the Gothic arches; upon one molded pillar; upon the marble image of the virgin Thecla; and on the scarcely less marble countenance of Sybil who stood behind the altar, silent, statue-like, immovable. The effect of light and shade on other parts of the scene, upon the wild drapery, and harsh lineaments of many of the group, was also eminently striking.
Just as the priest was about to commence the marriage service, a yelling chorus, which the gipsies were accustomed to sing at the celebration of the nuptials of one of their own tribe, burst forth. Nothing could be more horribly discordant than their song.
WEDDING CHORUS OF GIPSIES
Scrape the catgut! pass the liquor!
Let your quick feet move the quicker.
Ta-ra-la!
Dance and sing in jolly chorus,
Bride and bridegroom are before us,
And the patrico stands o'er us.
Ta-ra-la!
To unite their hands he's ready;
For a moment, pals, be steady;
Cease your quaffing,
Dancing, laughing;
Leave off riot,
And be quiet,
While 'tis doing.
'Tis begun,
All is over!
Two are ONE!
The patrico has link'd 'em;
Daddy Hymen's torch has blink'd 'em.
Amen!
To 't again!
Now for quaffing,
Now for laughing,
Stocking-throwing,
Liquor flowing;
For our bridals are no bridles, and our altars never alter;
From the flagon never flinch we, in the jig we never falter.
No! that's not our way, for we
Are staunch lads of Romany.
For our wedding, then, hurrah!
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
This uncouth chorus ended, the marriage proceeded. Sybil had disappeared. Had she fled? No! she was by the bride. Eleanor mechanically took her place. A faint voice syllabled the responses. You could scarcely have seen Miss Mowbray's lips move. But the answers were given, and the priest was satisfied.
He took the ring, and sprinkled it once again with the holy water, in the form of the cross. He pronounced the prayer: "Benedic, Domine, annulum hunc, quem nos in tuo nomine benedicimus, ut quae eum gestaverit, fidelitatem integram suo sponso tenens, in pace et voluntate tua permaneat atque in mutua charitate semper vivat."
He was about to return the ring to Luke, when the torch, held by the knight of Malta, was dashed to the ground by some unseen hand, and instantly extinguished. The wild pageant vanished as suddenly as the figures cast by a magic-lantern upon a wall disappear when the glass is removed. A wild hubbub succeeded. Hoarsely above the clamor arose the voice of Barbara.
To the door, quickly!--to the door! Let no one pass, I will find out the author of this mishap anon. Away!
She was obeyed. Several of the crew stationed themselves at the door.
Proceed now with the ceremony, continued Barbara. "By darkness, or by light, the match shall be completed."
The ring was then placed upon the finger of the bride; and as Luke touched it, he shuddered. It was cold as that of the corpse which he had clasped but now. The prayer was said, the blessing given, the marriage was complete.
Suddenly there issued from the darkness deep dirge-like tones, and a voice solemnly chanted a strain, which all knew to be the death-song of their race, hymned by wailing women over an expiring sister. The music seemed to float in the air.
THE SOUL-BELL
Fast the sand of life is falling,
Fast her latest sigh exhaling,
Fast, fast, is she dying.
With death's chills her limbs are shivering,
With death's gasp the lips are quivering,
Fast her soul away is flying.
O'er the mountain-top it fleeteth,
And the skyey wonders greeteth,
Singing loud as stars it meeteth
On its way.
Hark! the sullen Soul-bell tolling,
Hollowly in echoes rolling,
Seems to say--
"
She will ope her eyes--oh, never! Quenched their dark light--gone for ever! She is dead.
"
The marriage group yet lingered near the altar, awaiting, it would seem, permission from the gipsy queen to quit the cell. Luke stirred not. Clasped in his own, the cold hand of his bride detained him; and when he would have moved, her tightened grasp prevented his departure.
Mrs. Mowbray's patience was exhausted by the delay. She was not altogether free from apprehension. "Why do we linger here?" she whispered to the priest. "Do you, father, lead the way."
The crowd is dense, replied Checkley. "They resist my effort."
Are we prisoners here? asked Mrs. Mowbray, in alarm.
Let me make the attempt, cried Luke, with fiery impatience. "I will force a passage out."
Quit not your bride, whispered Peter, "as you value her safety. Heed not aught else. She alone is in danger. Suffer her not to be withdrawn from your hand, if you would not lose her. Remain here. I will bring the matter to a speedy issue."
Enough, replied Luke; "I stir not hence." And he drew his bride closer towards him. He stooped to imprint a kiss upon her lips. A cold shudder ran through her frame as he touched them, but she resisted not his embrace.
Peter's attempt to effect an egress was as unsuccessful as that of the priest. Presenting Excalibur at his bosom, the knight of Malta challenged him to stand.
You cannot pass, exclaimed the knight; "our orders are peremptory."
What am I to understand by this? said Peter, angrily. "Why are we detained?"
You will learn all anon, returned Barbara. "In the meantime you are my prisoners--or, if you like not the phrase, my wedding guests."
The wedding is complete, returned the sexton; "the bride and bridegroom are impatient to depart, and we, the guests--albeit some of us may be no foes to darkness--desire not to hold our nuptial revels here."
Sybil's wedding has not taken place, said Barbara; "you must tarry for that."
Ha! now it comes, thought Peter. "And who, may I ask," said he, aloud, "amongst this goodly company, is to be her bridegroom?"
The best amongst them, returned Barbara--"Sir Luke Rookwood."
He has a bride already, replied Peter.
She may be removed, said Barbara, with bitter and peculiar emphasis. "Dost understand my meaning now?"
I will not understand it, said Peter. "You cannot mean to destroy her who now stands at the altar?"
She who now stands at the altar must make way for a successor. She who grasps the bridegroom's hand shall die. I swear it by the oath of my tribe.
And think you, you will be allowed to execute your murderous intention with impunity? shrieked Mrs. Mowbray, in an agony of terror. "Think you that I will stand by and see my child slaughtered before my face; that my friends will suffer it? Think you that even your own tribe will dare to execute your horrible purpose? They will not. They will side with us. Even now they murmur. What can you hope to gain by an act so wild and dreadful? What object can you have?"
The same as your own, reiterated Barbara--"the advancement of my child. Sybil is as dear to me as Eleanor is to you. She is my child's child, the daughter of my best beloved daughter. I have sworn to marry her to Sir Luke Rookwood. The means are in my power. I will keep my vow; I will wed her to him. You did not hesitate to tear your daughter from the man she loved, to give her to the man she hated; and for what? For gold--for power--for rank. I have the same motive. I love my child, and she loves Sir Luke--has loved him long and truly; therefore shall she have him. What to me is your child, or your feelings, except they are subservient to my wishes? She stands in my way. I remove her."
Who placed her in your path? asked the sexton. "Did you not lend a helping hand to create that obstacle yourself?"
I did, replied Barbara. "Would you know wherefore? I will tell you. I had a double motive for it. There is a curse upon the house of Rookwood, that kills the first fair bride each generation leads to the altar. Have you never heard of it?"
I have! And did that idle legend sway you?
And do you call it idle? You! Well--I had another motive--a prophecy.
By yourself uttered, replied Peter.
Even so, replied Barbara. "The prophecy is fulfilled. The stray rook is found. The rook hath with rook mated. Luke hath wedded Eleanor. He will hold possession of his lands. The prophecy is fulfilled."
But how? asked Peter; "will your art tell you how and why he shall now hold possession? Can you tell me that?"
My art goes not so far. I have predicted the event. It has come to pass. I am satisfied. He has wedded her. Be it mine to free him from that yoke. And Barbara laughed exultingly.
The sexton approached the old crone, and laid his hand with violence upon her shoulder.
Hear me, cried he, "and I will tell you that which your juggling art refuses to reveal. Eleanor Mowbray is heir to the lands of Rookwood! The estates are hers! They were bequeathed to her by her grandsire, Sir Reginald."
She was unborn when he died, cried Mrs. Mowbray.
True, replied Peter; "but the lands were left to your issue female, should such issue be born."
And did Sir Piers, my brother, know of this? did he see this will, asked Mrs. Mowbray, with trembling impatience.
He did; and withheld the knowledge of it from you and yours.
Ah! why knew I not this before? Why did you not tell me ere that was done which cannot be undone? I have sacrificed my child.
Because it did not chime with my purposes to tell you, replied Peter, coldly.
It is false--it is false, cried Mrs. Mowbray, her anger and vexation getting the better of her fears. "I will not believe it. Who are you, that pretend to know the secrets of our house?"
One of that house, replied the sexton.
Your name?
Would you know my name? answered Peter, sternly. "The time is come when I will no longer conceal it. I am Alan Rookwood."
My father's brother! exclaimed Mrs. Mowbray.
Ay, Alan Rookwood. The sworn enemy of your father--of you--of all of ye: your fate--your destiny--your curse. I am that Alan Rookwood whose name you breathed in the vault. I am he, the avenger--the avenged. I saw your father die. I heard his groans--his groans!--ha, ha! I saw his sons die: one fell in battle--I was with him there. The other expired in his bed. I was with Sir Piers when he breathed his last, and listened to his death agonies. 'Twas I who counselled him to keep the lands from you and from your child, and he withheld them. One only amongst the race, whose name I have cast off, have I loved; and him--because, added he, with something like emotion--"because he was my daughter's child--Luke Rookwood. And even he shall minister to my vengeance. He will be your curse--your daughter's curse--for he loves her not. Yet he is her husband, and hath her land;--ha, ha!" And he laughed till he became convulsed with the paroxysm of fiendish exultation.
Mine ears are stunned, cried Mrs. Mowbray.
The bride is mine; relinquish her to me, said Barbara. "Advance and seize her, my children."
Alan Rookwood--for so we shall henceforth denominate the sexton--suddenly grew calm: he raised the whistle to his lips, and blew a call so loud and shrill, that those who were advancing hung back irresolute.
There was a rush at the door of the vault. The sentinels were struck down; and with pistols in each hand, and followed by two assistants, Dick Turpin sprang into the thick of the crew.
Here we are, cried he, "ready for action. Where is Sir Luke Rookwood? where my churchyard pal, Peter?"
Here, cried the sexton and Luke simultaneously.
Then stand aside, cried Dick, pushing in the direction of the sounds, and bearing down all opposition. "Have a care there--these triggers are ticklish. Friend or foe, he who touches me shall have a bullet in his gizzard. Here I am, pal Peter; and here are my two chums, Rust and Wilder. Cut the whid."
Have we license to pass scathless now? asked the sexton; "or shall we make good our way?"
You shall not pass, cried Barbara, furiously. "Think you to rob me of my prey? What, cowards! do you hesitate? Ha!"
Kindle the torches, cried several voices. "We fight not in the dark."
A pistol was flashed. The torch again blazed. Its light fell upon a tumultuous group.
Seize the bride, cried Barbara.
Hold! exclaimed a voice from the altar. The voice was that of Sybil.
Her hand was clasped in that of Luke. Eleanor had fainted in the arms of the gipsy girl Handassah.
Are you my bride? ejaculated Luke, in dismay.
Behold the ring upon my finger! Your own hand placed it there.
Betrayed! screamed Alan, in a voice of anguish. "My schemes annihilated--myself undone--my enemies triumphant--lost! lost! All is destroyed--all!"
Joy! joy! exclaimed Mrs. Mowbray: "my child is saved."
And mine destroyed, groaned Barbara. "I have sworn by the cross to slay the bride--and Sybil is that bride."
The wolf shall find her grave, and scrape it up;
Not to devour the corse, but to discover
The horrid murther.
WEBSTER.
Bravo! capital! cried Turpin, laughing loud and long as an Olympian deity; "has this simple wench outwitted you all; turned the tables upon the whole gang of plotters, eh? Excellent! ha, ha, ha! The next time you wed, Sir Luke, let me advise you not to choose a wife in the dark. A man should have all his senses about him on these occasions. Make love when the liquor's in; marry when it's out, and, above all, with your eyes open. This beats cock-fighting--ha, ha, ha!--you must excuse me; but, upon my soul, I can't help it." And his laughter seemed inextinguishable.
Take your men without, whispered Alan Rookwood; "keep watch as before, and let the discharge of a pistol bespeak the approach of danger as agreed upon; much yet remains to be done here."
How so? asked Dick; "it seems to me the job's entirely settled--if not to your satisfaction. I'm always ready to oblige my friend, Sir Luke; but curse me if I'd lend my help to any underhand work. Steer clear of foul play, or Dick Turpin holds no hand with you. As to that poor wench, if you mean her any harm, curse me if I will----"
No harm is intended her, replied Alan. "I applaud your magnanimity," added he, sarcastically; "such sentiments are, it must be owned, in excellent keeping with your conduct."
In keeping or not, replied Turpin, gravely, "cold-blooded murder is altogether out of my line, and I wash my hands of it. A shot or two in self defence is another matter; and when----"
A truce to this, interrupted Alan; "the girl is safe. Will you mount guard again?"
If that be the case, certainly, replied Dick. "I shall be glad to get back to Bess. I couldn't bring her with me into this black hole. A couple of shots will tell you 'tis Ranulph Rookwood. But mind, no harm to the gipsy girl--to Lady Rookwood, I should say. She's a jewel, take my word for it, which Sir Luke must be mad to throw away." And calling his companions, he departed.
Alan Rookwood bent his steps towards the gipsy queen. Dark thoughts gathered quickly o'er his brow. He smiled as he drew nigh to Barbara--a smile it was
That wrinkled up his skin even to the hair.
Barbara looked at him at first with distrust; but as he developed his secret purposes, that smile became reflected upon her own features. Their conference took place apart. We willingly leave them to return to the altar.
Mrs. Mowbray and the priest were still there. Both were occupied in ineffectual endeavors to restore Eleanor to consciousness. She recovered from her swoon; but it was evident her senses still wandered; and vainly did Mrs. Mowbray lavish her tenderest caresses upon her child. Eleanor returned them not.
Luke, meanwhile, had given vent to the wildest fury. He shook away Sybil's grasp; he dashed her from him; he regarded her with withering glances; he loaded her with reproaches. She bore his violence with meekest submission; she looked imploringly--but she replied not to his taunts. Again she clung to the hem of his garment when cast aside. Luke appeared unmoved; what passed within we pause not to examine. He grew calmer; his calmness was more terrible to Sybil than his previous wrath had been.
You are my wife, said he; "what then? By fraud, by stratagem, you have obtained that title, and, perforce, must keep it. But the title only shall you retain. No rights of wife shall ever be yours. It will be in your power to call yourself Lady Rookwood--you will be so in name--in nothing else."
I shall not bear it long, murmured Sybil.
Luke laughed scornfully, "So you said before," replied he; "and yet I see not why you are likely to abandon it. The event will show. Thus far you have deceived me, and I place no further faith in your assertions. My hand was yours; you refused it. When I would give it to another, you grasp it clandestinely. Am I to believe you now? The wind will change--the vane veer with it."
It will not veer from you, she meekly answered.
Why did you step between me and my bride?
To save her life; to lay down mine for hers.
An idle subterfuge. You know well that you run no risk of being called upon to do so. Your life is in no danger. The sacrifice was unnecessary. I could have dispensed with your assistance; my own arm would have sufficed to protect Eleanor.
Your single arm would not have prevailed against numbers: they would have killed you likewise.
Tush! said Luke, fiercely. "Not only have you snatched from me my bride, you have robbed me of my fair estates, of all, save of my barren title, and that, even that, you have tarnished."
True, true, sighed Sybil. "I knew not that the lands were hers, else had I never done it."
False, false, cried Luke; "false as the rest. They will be Ranulph's. She will be Ranulph's. I shall still be an outcast, while Ranulph will riot in my halls--will press her to his bosom. Cling not to me. Hence! or I will spurn you from me. I am undone, undone by you, accursed one."
Oh, curse me not! your words cut deep enough.
Would they could kill you, cried Luke, with savage bitterness. "You have placed a bar between me and my prospects, which nothing can now remove--nothing but--ha!" and his countenance assumed a deadly hue and fearful expression. "By Heaven, you almost rouse the fell spirit which it is said dwells within the breast of my devoted race. I feel as if I could stab thee."
No, no! shrieked Sybil; "for mercy's sake, for your own sake, do not stab me. It is not too late. I will repair my wrong!"
Ever deceiving! you would again delude me. You cannot repair it. One way alone remains, and that----
I will pursue, responded Sybil, sadly, but firmly.
Never! cried Luke; "you shall not. Ha!" exclaimed he, as he found his arms suddenly pinioned behind him. "What new treachery is this? By whose orders am I thus fettered?"
By mine, said Alan Rookwood, stepping forward.
By yours? echoed Luke. "And wherefore? Release me."
Be patient, replied Alan. "You will hear all anon. In the meantime you must be content to remain my prisoner. Quit not your hold," added he, addressing the gipsies, who kept charge of Luke.
Their lives shall answer for their obedience, said Barbara.
Upon a further signal from Alan, Eleanor was torn from her mother's arms, and a bandage passed so suddenly over Mrs. Mowbray's face, that, before she could raise a cry of alarm, all possibility of utterance was effectually prevented. The priest alone was left at liberty.
Barbara snatched the hand of Eleanor. She dragged her to Sybil.
You are Lady Rookwood, whispered she; "but she has your domains. I give her to you."
She is the only bar between thy husband and his rights, whispered Alan Rookwood, in a tone of horrible irony; "it is not too late to repair your wrong."
Away, tempter! cried Sybil, horror-stricken. "I know you well. Yet," continued she, in an altered tone, "I will risk all for him. I have done him wrong. One mode of atonement remains; and, horrible though it be, I will embrace it. Let me not pause. Give her to me." And she seized upon the unresisting hand of Eleanor.
Do you need my aid? asked Barbara.
No, replied Sybil; "let none approach us. A clapping of hands will let you know when all is over." And she dragged her passive victim deeper into the vault.
Sybil, Sybil! cried Luke, struggling with frantic violence to liberate himself; "hurt her not. I was rash. I was mad. I am calmer now. She hears me not--she will not turn. God of heaven! she will murder her. It will be done while I speak. I am the cause of all. Release me, villains! Would that I had died ere I had seen this day."
At a signal from the sexton, Luke also was blindfolded. He ceased to struggle. But his laboring breast told of the strife within.
Miscreants! exclaimed the priest, who had hitherto witnessed the proceedings in horror. "Why do not these rocks fall in, and crush you and your iniquities? Save her! oh, save her! Have you no pity for the innocent?"
Such pity have we, replied Alan Rookwood, "as you showed my daughter. She was as innocent as Eleanor Mowbray, and yet you did not pity her."
Heaven is my witness, exclaimed the priest, "that I never injured her."
Take not Heaven's name in vain, cried Alan. "Who stood by while it was doing? Whose firmer hand lent aid to the murderer's trembling efforts? Whose pressure stifled her thrilling screams, and choked her cries for mercy? Yours--yours; and now you prate to me of pity--you, the slayer of the sleeping and the innocent!"
'Tis false! exclaimed the priest, in extremity of terror.
False! echoed Alan. "I had Sir Piers's own confession. He told me all. You had designs upon Sir Piers, which his wife opposed; you hated her; you were in the confidence of both--how did you keep that confidence? He told me how, by awakening a spirit of jealousy and pride, that o'ermastered all his better feelings. False! He told me of your hellish machinations; your Jesuitical plots; your schemes. He was too weak, too feeble an instrument to serve you. You left him, but not before she had left him. False! ha, I have that shall instantly convict you. The corpse is here, within this cell. Who brought it hither?"
The priest was silent: he seemed confounded by Alan's violence.
I will answer that question, said Barbara. "It was brought hither by that false priest. His agent, Balthazar, has betrayed him. It was brought hither to prevent the discovery of Sir Luke Rookwood's legitimacy. He meant to make his own terms about it. It has come hither to proclaim his guilt--to be a fearful witness against him." Then, turning to Checkley, she added, "You have called Heaven to witness your innocence: you shall attest it by oath upon that body; and should aught indicate your guilt, I will hang you as I would a dog, and clear off one long score with justice. Do you shrink from this?"
No, replied the priest, in a voice hollow and broken. "Bring me to the body."
Seize each an arm, said Barbara, addressing Zoroaster and the knight of Malta, "and lead him to the corse."
I will administer the oath, said Alan Rookwood, sternly.
No, not you, stammered the priest.
And wherefore not? asked Alan. "If you are innocent, you need fear nothing from her."
I fear nothing from the dead, replied Checkley; "lead on."
We will now return to Sybil. She was alone with her victim. They were near the mouth of the cell which had been Prior Cyprian's flinty dormitory, and were almost involved in darkness. A broken stream of light glanced through the pillars. Eleanor had not spoken. She suffered herself to be dragged thither without resistance, scarcely conscious, it would seem, of her danger. Sybil gazed upon her for some minutes with sorrow and surprise. "She comprehends not her perilous situation," murmured Sybil. "She knows not that she stands upon the brink of the grave. Oh! would that she could pray. Shall I, her murderess, pray for her? My prayers would not be heard. And yet, to kill her unshriven will be a twofold crime. Let me not look on her. My hand trembles. I can scarce grasp the dagger. Let me think on all he has said. I have wronged him. I am his bane, his curse! I have robbed him of all: there is but one remedy--'tis this!--Oh, God! she recovers. I cannot do it now."
It was a fearful moment for Eleanor's revival, when the bright steel flashed before her eyes. Terror at once restored her. She cast herself at Sybil's feet.
Spare, spare me! cried she. "Oh! what a dream I have had. And to waken thus, with the dagger's point at my breast. You will not kill me--you, gentle maid, who promised to preserve me. Ah, no, I am sure you will not."
Appeal no more to me, said Sybil, fiercely. "Make your peace with Heaven. Your minutes are numbered."
I cannot pray, said Eleanor, "while you are near me."
Will you pray if I retire and leave you?
No, no. I dare not--cannot, shrieked Eleanor, in extremity of terror. "Oh! do not leave me, or let me go."
If you stir, said Sybil, "I stab you to the heart."
I will not stir. I will kneel here forever. Stab me as I kneel--as I pray to you. You cannot kill me while I cling to you thus--while I kiss your hands--while I bedew them with my tears. Those tears will not sully them like my blood.
Maiden, said Sybil, endeavoring to withdraw her hand, "let go your hold--your sand is run."
Mercy!
It is in vain. Close your eyes.
No, I will fix them on you thus--you cannot strike then. I will cling to you--embrace you. Your nature is not cruel--your soul is full of pity. It melts--those tears--you will be merciful. You cannot deliberately kill me.
I cannot--I cannot! said Sybil, with a passionate outburst of grief. "Take your life on one condition."
Name it.
That you wed Sir Luke Rookwood.
Ah! exclaimed Eleanor, "all rushes back upon me at that name; the whole of that fearful scene passes in review before me."
Do you reject my proposal?
I dare not.
I must have your oath. Swear by every hope of eternity that you will wed none other than him.
By every hope, I swear it.
Handassah, you will bear this maiden's oath in mind, and witness its fulfilment.
I will, replied the gipsy girl, stepping forward from a recess, in which she had hitherto remained unnoticed.
Enough. I am satisfied. Tarry with me. Stir not--scream not, whatever you may see or hear. Your life depends upon your firmness. When I am no more----
No more? echoed Eleanor, in horror.
Be calm, said Sybil. "When I am dead, clap your hands together. They will come to seek you--they will find me in your stead. Then rush to him--to Sir Luke Rookwood. He will protect you. Say to him hereafter that I died for the wrong I did him--that I died, and blessed him."
Can you not live, and save me? sobbed Eleanor.
Ask it not. While I live, your life is in danger. When I am gone, none will seek to harm you. Fare you well! Remember your oath, and you, too, remember it, Handassah. Remember also--ha! that groan!
All started, as a deep groan knelled in their ears.
Whence comes that sound? cried Sybil. "Hist!--a voice?"
It is that of the priest, cried Eleanor. "Hark! he groans. They have murdered him! Kind Heaven, receive his soul!"
Pray for me, cried Sybil: "pray fervently; avert your face; down on your knees--down--down! Farewell, Handassah!" And breaking from them, she rushed into the darkest recesses of the vault.
We must now quit this painful scene for another scarcely less painful, and return to the unfortunate priest.
Checkley had been brought before the body of Susan Rookwood. Even in the gloom, the shimmer of the white cereclothes, and the pallid features of the corpse, were ghastly enough. The torchlight made them terrible.
Kneel! said Alan Rookwood. The priest complied. Alan knelt beside him.
Do you know these features? demanded he. "Regard them well. Fix your eyes full upon them. Do you know them?"
I do.
Place your hand upon her breast. Does not the flesh creep and shrink beneath your touch? Now raise your hand--make the cross of your faith upon her bosom. By that faith you swear you are innocent.
I do, returned the priest; "are you now satisfied?"
No, replied Alan. "Let the torch be removed. Your innocence must be more deeply attested," continued he, as the light was withdrawn. "This proof will not fail. Entwine your fingers round her throat."
Have I not done enough?
Your hesitation proves your guilt, said Alan.
That proof is wanting, then? returned the priest; "my hand is upon her throat--what more?"
As you hope for mercy in your hour of need, swear that you never conspired against her life, or refused her mercy.
I swear it.
May the dead convict you of perjury if you have forsworn yourself, said Alan; "you are free. Take away your hand!"
Ha! what is this? exclaimed the priest. "You have put some jugglery upon me. I cannot withdraw my hand. It sticks to her throat, as though 'twere glued by blood. Tear me away. I have not force enough to liberate myself. Why do you grin at me? The corpse grins likewise. It is jugglery. I am innocent. You would take away my life. Tear me away, I say: the veins rise; they blacken; they are filling with new blood. I feel them swell; they coil like living things around my fingers. She is alive."
And you are innocent?
I am--I am. Let not my ravings convict me. For Jesu's sake, release me.
Blaspheme not, but arise. I hold you not.
You do, groaned the priest. "Your grasp tightens round my throat; your hard and skinny fingers are there--I strangle--help!"
Your own fears strangle you. My hand is at my side, returned Alan calmly.
Villain, you lie. Your grasp is like a vice. The strength of a thousand devils is in your hand. Will none lend help? I never pressed so hard. Your daughter never suffered this torture--never--never. I choke--choke--oh! And the priest rolled heavily backwards.
There was a deep groan; a convulsive rattle in the throat; and all was still.
He is dead--strangled, cried several voices, holding down the torch. The face of the priest was blackened and contorted; his eyeballs protruded from their sockets; his tongue was nearly bitten through in the desperate efforts he had made to release himself from Alan's gripe; his hair was erect with horror. It was a ghastly sight.
A murmur arose amongst the gipsies. Barbara deemed it prudent to appease them.
He was guilty, cried she. "He was the murderer of Susan Rookwood."
And I, her father, have avenged her, said Alan, sternly.
The dreadful silence that followed this speech was broken by the report of a pistol. The sound, though startling, was felt almost as a relief.
We are beset, cried Alan. "Some of you fly to reconnoitre."
To your posts, cried Barbara.
Several of the crew flocked to the entrance.
Unbind the prisoners, shouted Alan.
Mrs. Mowbray and Luke were accordingly set free.
Two almost simultaneous reports of a pistol were now heard.
'Tis Ranulph Rookwood, said Alan; "that was the preconcerted signal."
Ranulph Rookwood, echoed Eleanor, who caught the exclamation: "he comes to save me."
Remember your oath, gasped a dying voice. "He is no longer yours."
Alas! alas! sobbed Eleanor, tremblingly.
A moment afterwards a faint clapping of hands reached the ears of Barbara.
All is over, muttered she.
Ha! exclaimed Alan Rookwood, with a frightful look. "Is it done?"
Barbara motioned him towards the further end of the vault.
Grimm.
Look, captain, here comes one of the bloodhounds of justice.
Schw.
Down with him. Don't let him utter a word.
Moor.
Silence, I will hear him.
-SCHILLER: the Robbers.
Gladly do we now exchange the dank atmosphere of Saint Cyprian's cell, and the horrors which have detained us there so long, for balmy air, genial sunshine, and the boon companionship of Dick Turpin. Upon regaining the verdant ruins of the ancient priory, all appeared pretty much as our highwayman had left it. Dick wended towards his mare. Black Bess uttered an affectionate whinnying sound as he approached her, and yielded her sleek neck to his caresses. No Bedouin Arab ever loved his horse more tenderly than Turpin.
'Twill be a hard day when thou and I part! murmured he, affectionately patting her soft and silky cheeks. Bess thrust her nose into his hand, biting him playfully, as much as to say, "That day will never arrive." Turpin, at least, understood the appeal in that sense; he was skilled in the language of the Houyhnhnms. "I would rather lose my right hand than that should happen," sighed he; "but there's no saying: the best of friends must part; and thou and I may be one day separated: thy destination is the knacker--mine, perhaps, the gibbet.--We are neither of us cut out for old age, that's certain. Curse me if I can tell how it is; since I've been in that vault, I've got some queer crotchet into my head. I can't help likening thee to that poor gipsy wench, Sybil; but may I be scragged if I'd use thee as her lover has used her. Ha!" exclaimed he, drawing a pistol with a suddenness that made his companions, Rust and Wilder, start, "we are watched. See you not how yon shadow falls from behind the wall?"
I do, replied Rust.
The varmint shall be speedily unearthed, said Wilder, rushing to the spot.
In another instant the shadow manifested itself in a substantial little personage, booted, spurred, and mud-bespattered. He was brought before our highwayman, who had, meanwhile, vaulted into his saddle.
Mr. Coates! cried Dick, bursting into a loud laugh at the ridiculous figure presented to his view, "or the mud deceives me."
It does not deceive you, Captain Turpin, replied the attorney; "you do, indeed, behold that twice unfortunate person."
What brings you here? asked Dick. "Ah! I see, you are come to pay me my wager."
I thought you gave me a discharge for that, rejoined Coates, unable, even in his distress, to resist the too-tempting quibble.
True, but it was in blank, replied Turpin readily; "and that don't hold good in law, you know. You have thrown away a second chance. Play or pay, all the world over. I shan't let you off so easily this time, depend upon it. Come, post the pony, or take your measure on that sod. No more replications or rejoinders, sir, down with the dust. Fake his clies, pals. Let us see what he has about him."
In the twinkling of a bed-post, replied Rust. "We'll turn him inside out. What's here?" cried he, searching the attorney's pockets. "A brace of barkers," handing a pair of pistols to Turpin, "a haddock, stuffed with nothing, I'm thinking; one quid, two coach-wheels, half a bull, three hogs, and a kick; a d--d dicky concern, captain."
Three hogs and a kick, muttered Coates; "the knave says true enough."
Is there nothing else? demanded Dick.
Only an old snuffy fogle and a pewter sneezer.
No reader? Try his hoxter.
Here's a pit-man, captain.
Give it me. Ah! this will do, cried Dick, examining the contents of the pocket-book. "This is a glorious windfall indeed; a bill of exchange for 500l., payable on demand, eh, Mr. Coates? Quick! indorse it, sir. Here's pen and ink. Rascal! if you attempt to tear the bill, I'll blow your brains out. Steady, sir, sign. Good!" added he, as Coates most reluctantly indorsed the bill. "Good! good! I'll be off with this bill to London to-night, before you can stop it. No courier can beat Bess--ha, ha! Eh! what's this?" continued Dick, as, unfolding another leaf of the pocket-book, he chanced upon a letter; "My Lady Rookwood's superscription! Excuse me, Mr. Coates, I must have a peep at her ladyship's billet-doux. All's safe with me--man of honor. I must detain your reader a moment longer."
You should take charge of yourself, then, replied Coates, sulkily. "You appear to be my reader."
Bravo! cried Turpin. "You may jest now with impunity, Mr. Coates. You have paid dear enough for your jokes; and when should a man be allowed to be pleasant, if not at his own expense?--ha, ha! What's this?" exclaimed he, opening the letter. "A ring, as I'm awake! and from her ladyship's own fair finger, I'll be sworn, for it bears her cipher, ineffaceably impressed as your image upon her heart--eh, Coates? Egad! you are a lucky dog, after all, to receive such a favor from such a lady--ha, ha! Meantime, I'll take care of it for you," continued Dick, slipping the ring on his little finger.
Turpin, we have before remarked, had a turn for mimicry; and it was with an irresistible feeling of deferential awe creeping over him that Coates heard the contents of Lady Rookwood's epistle delivered with an enunciation as peremptory and imperious as that of her ladyship's self. The letter was hastily indited, in a clear, firm hand, and partook of its writer's decision of character. Dick found no difficulty in deciphering it. Thus ran the missive:
"Assured of your devotion and secrecy, I commit my own honor, and that of my son, to your charge. Time will not permit me to see you, or I would not write. But I place myself entirely in your hands. You will not dare to betray my confidence. To the point:--A Major Mowbray has just arrived here with intelligence that the body of Susan Bradley--you will know to whom I allude--has been removed from our family vault by a Romish priest and his assistants. How it came there, or why it has been removed, I know not; it is not my present purpose to inquire. Suffice it, that it now lies in a vault beneath the ruins of Davenham Priory. My son, Sir Ranulph, who has lent a credulous ear to the artful tales of the impostor who calls this woman mother, is at present engaged in arming certain of the household, and of the tenantry, to seize upon and bring away this body, as resistance is apprehended from a horde of gipsies who infest the ruins. Now, mark me. THAT BODY MUST NOT BE FOUND! Be it your business to prevent its discovery. Take the fleetest horse you can procure; spare neither whip nor spur. Haste to the priory; procure by any means, and at any expense, the assistance of the gipsies. Find out the body; conceal it, destroy it--do what you will, so my son find it not. Fear not his resentment; I will bear you harmless of the consequences with him. You will act upon my responsibility. I pledge my honor for your safety. Use all despatch, and calculate upon due requital from
"MAUD ROOKWOOD.
"Haste, and God speed you!"
God speed you! echoed Dick, in his own voice, contemptuously. "The devil drive you! would have been a fitter postscript. And it was upon this precious errand you came, Mr. Coates?"
Precisely, replied the attorney; "but I find the premises preoccupied. Fast as I have ridden, you are here before me."
And what do you now propose to do? asked Turpin.
Bargain with you for the body, replied Coates, in an insinuating tone.
With me! said Dick; "do you take me for a resurrection cove; for a dealer in dead stock, eh! sirrah?"
I take you for one sufficiently alive, in a general way, to his own interests, returned Coates. "These gentlemen may not, perhaps, be quite so scrupulous, when they hear my proposals."
Be silent, sir, interrupted Turpin. "Hist! I hear the tramp of horses' hoofs without. Hark! that shout."
Make your own terms before they come, said Coates. "Leave all to me. I'll put 'em on a wrong scent."
To the devil with your terms, cried Turpin; "the signal!" And he pulled the trigger of one of Coates's pistols, the shot of which rang in the ears of the astounded attorney as it whizzed past him. "Drag him into the mouth of the vault," thundered Turpin: "he will be a capital cover in case of attack. Look to your sticks, and be on the alert;--away!"
Vainly did the unfortunate attorney kick and struggle, swear and scream; his hat was pushed over his eyes; his bob-wig thrust into his mouth; and his legs tripped from under him. Thus blind, dumb, and half-suffocated, he was hurried into the entrance of the cell.
Dick, meanwhile, dashed to the arched outlet of the ruin. He there drew in the rein, and Black Bess stood motionless as a statue.
Many a fine fellow with a genius extensive enough to have effected universal reformation has been doomed to perish by the halter. But does not such a man's renown extend through centuries and tens of centuries, while many a prince would be overlooked in history were it not the historian's interest to increase the number of his pages? Nay, when the traveller sees a gibbet, does he not exclaim, "That fellow was no fool!" and lament the hardship of the times?
--SCHILLER: The Robbers.
Turpin's quick eye ranged over the spreading sward in front of the ancient priory, and his brow became contracted. The feeling, however, was transient. The next instant saw him the same easy, reckless being he had been before. There was a little more paleness in his cheek than usual; but his look was keener, and his knees involuntarily clasped the saddle more firmly. No other symptom of anxiety was perceptible. It would be no impeachment to Dick's valor were it necessary to admit that a slight tremor crossed him as he scanned the formidable array of his opponents. The admission is needless. Dick himself would have been the last man to own it; nor shall we do the memory of our undaunted highwayman any such injustice. Turpin was intrepid to a fault. He was rash; apt to run into risks for the mere pleasure of getting out of them: danger was his delight, and the degree of excitement was always in proportion to the peril incurred. After the first glance, he became, to use his own expressive phrase, "as cool as a cucumber;" and continued, as long as they permitted him, like a skilful commander, calmly to calculate the numerical strength of his adversaries, and to arrange his own plan of resistance.
This troop of horsemen, for such it was, might probably amount in the aggregate to twenty men, and presented an appearance like that of a strong muster at a rustic fox-chase, due allowance being made for the various weapons of offence; to-wit: naked sabers, firelocks, and a world of huge horse-pistols, which the present field carried along with them. This resemblance was heightened by the presence of an old huntsman and a gamekeeper or two, in scarlet and green jackets, and a few yelping hounds that had followed after them. The majority of the crew consisted of sturdy yeomen; some of whom, mounted upon wild, unbroken colts, had pretty lives of it to maintain their seats, and curvetted about in "most admired disorder;" others were seated upon more docile, but quite as provoking specimens of the cart-horse breed, whose sluggish sides, reckless alike of hobnailed heel or ash sapling, refused to obey their riders' intimations to move; while others again, brought stiff, wrong-headed ponies to the charge--obstinate, impracticable little brutes, who seemed to prefer revolving on their own axis, and describing absurd rotatory motions, to proceeding in the direct and proper course pointed out to them. Dick could scarcely forbear laughing at these ridiculous manuvres; but his attention was chiefly attracted towards three individuals, who were evidently the leaders of this warlike expedition. In the thin, tall figure of the first of these he recognized Ranulph Rookwood. With the features and person of the second of the group he was not entirely unacquainted, and fancied--nor incorrectly fancied--that his military bearing, or, as he would have expressed it, "the soldier-like cut of his jib," could belong to no other than Major Mowbray, whom he had once eased of a purse on Finchley Common. In the round, rosy countenance and robustious person of the last of the trio he discovered his ancient ally, Titus Tyrconnel.
Ah, Titus, my jewel, are you there? exclaimed Dick, as he distinguished the Irishman. "Come, I have one friend among them whom I may welcome. So, they see me now. Off they come, pell-mell. Back, Bess, back!--slowly, wench, slowly--there--stand!" And Bess again remained motionless.
The report of Turpin's pistol reached the ears of the troop; and as all were upon the alert, he had scarcely presented himself at the gateway, when a loud shout was raised, and the whole cavalcade galloped towards him, creating, as may be imagined, the wildest disorder; each horseman yelling, as he neared the arch, and got involved in the press occasioned by the unexpected concentration of forces at that point, while oaths and blows, kicks and cuffs, were reciprocated with such hearty good-will, that, had Turpin ever read Ariosto or Cervantes, or heard of the discord of King Agramante's camp, this melee must have struck him as its realization. As it was, entertaining little apprehension of the result, he shouted encouragement to them. Scarcely, however, had the foremost horseman disentangled himself from the crowd, and, struggling to the door, was in the act of levelling his pistol at Turpin's head, when a well-directed ball pierced the brain of his charger, and horse and man rolled to the ground. Vowing vengeance, a second succeeded, and was in like manner compelled to bite the dust.
That will let Old Peter know that Ranulph Rookwood is at hand, exclaimed Dick. "I shan't throw away another shot."
The scene at the archway was now one of complete confusion. Terrified by the shots, some of the boors would have drawn back, while others, in mid career, advanced, and propelled them forwards. It was like the meeting of two tides. Here and there, regardless of the bit, and scared by the firing, a wild colt broke all bounds, and, hurling his rider in the air, darted off into the green; or, in another case, rushed forward, and encountering the prostrate cattle cumbering the entrance to the priory hall, stumbled, and precipitated his master neck-over-heels at the very feet of his enemy. During all this tumult, a few shots were fired at the highwayman, which, without doing him a jot of mischief, tended materially to increase their own confusion.
The voice of Turpin was now heard above the din and turmoil to sound a parley; and as he appeared disposed to offer no opposition, some of his antagonists ventured to raise themselves from the ground, and to approach him.
I demand to be led to Sir Ranulph Rookwood, said Turpin.
He is here, said Ranulph, riding up. "Villain, you are my prisoner."
As you list, Sir Ranulph, returned Dick, coolly; "but let me have a word in private with you ere you do aught you may repent hereafter."
No words, sir--deliver up your arms, or----
My pistols are at your service, replied Dick. "I have just discharged them."
You may have others. We must search you.
Hold! cried Dick; "if you will not listen to me, read that paper." And he handed Ranulph his mother's letter to Mr. Coates. It was without the superscription, which he had thrown aside.
My mother's hand! exclaimed Ranulph, reddening with anger, as he hastily perused its contents. "And she sent this to you? You lie, villain--'tis a forgery."
Let this speak for me, returned Dick, holding out the finger upon which Lady Rookwood's ring was placed. "Know you that cipher?"
You have stolen it, retorted Ranulph. "My mother," added he, in a deep, stern whisper, articulated only for Turpin's hearing, "would never have entrusted her honor to a highwayman's keeping."
She has entrusted more--her life, replied Dick, in a careless tone. "She would have bribed me to do murder."
Murder! echoed Ranulph, aghast.
Ay, to murder your brother, returned Dick; "but let that pass. You have read that note. I have acted solely upon your mother's responsibility. Lady Rookwood's honor is pledged for my safety. Of course her son will set me free."
Never!
Well, as you please. Your mother is in my power. Betray me, and you betray her.
No more! returned Ranulph, sternly. "Go your ways. You are free."
Pledge me your word of honor I am safe. Ranulph had scarcely given his pledge, when Major Mowbray rode furiously up. A deep flush of anger burnt upon his cheeks; his sword was drawn in his hand. He glanced at Turpin, as if he would have felled him from his saddle.
This is the ruffian, cried the major, fiercely, "by whom I was attacked some months ago, and for whose apprehension the reward of three hundred pounds is offered by his majesty's proclamation, with a free pardon to his accomplices. This is Richard Turpin. He has just added another crime to his many offences. He has robbed my mother and sister. The postboy knew him the moment he came up. Where are they, villain? Whither are they gone?--answer!"
I know not, replied Turpin, calmly. "Did not the lad tell you they were rescued?"
Rescued!--by whom? asked Ranulph, with great emotion.
By one who calls himself Sir Luke Rookwood, answered Turpin, with a meaning smile.
By him! ejaculated Ranulph. "Where are they now?"
I have already answered that question, said Dick. "I repeat, I know not."
You are my prisoner, cried the major, seizing Turpin's bridle.
I have Sir Ranulph's word for my safety, rejoined Turpin. "Let go my rein."
How is this? asked Major Mowbray, incredulously.
Ask me not. Release him, replied Ranulph.
Ranulph, said the major, "you ask an impossibility. My honor--my duty--is implicated in this man's capture."
The honor of all of us is involved in his deliverance, returned Ranulph, in a whisper. "Let him go. I will explain all hereafter. Let us search for them--for Eleanor. Surely, after this, you will help us to find them," added he, addressing Turpin.
I wish, with all my soul, I could do so, replied the highwayman.
I see'd the ladies cross the brook, and enter these old ruins, interposed the postboy, who had now joined the party. "I see'd 'em from where I stood on the hill-side; and as I kept a pretty sharp look-out, and have a tolerably bright eye of my own, I don't think as how they ever comed out again."
Some one is hidden within yon fissure in the wall, exclaimed Ranulph; "I see a figure move."
And he flung himself from his horse, rushing towards the mouth of the cell. Imitating his example, Major Mowbray followed his friend, sword in hand.
The game begins now in right earnest, said Dick to himself; "the old fox will be soon unearthed. I must look to my snappers." And he thrust his hand quietly into his pocket in search of a pistol.
Just as Ranulph and the major reached the recess they were startled by the sudden apparition of the ill-fated attorney.
Mr. Coates! exclaimed Ranulph, in surprise. "What do you here, sir?"
I--I--that is--Sir Ranulph--you must excuse me, sir--particular business--can't say, returned the trembling attorney; for at this instant his eye caught that of Turpin, and the ominous reflexion of a polished-steel barrel, held carelessly towards him. He was aware, also, that on the other hand he was, in like manner, the mark of Rust and Wilder; those polite gentlemen having threatened him with a brace of slugs in his brain if he dared to betray their hiding-place. "It is necessary that I should be guarded in my answers," murmured he.
Is there any one within that place besides yourself? said the major, making a movement thither.
No, sir, nobody at all, answered Coates, hastily, fancying at the same time that he heard the click of the pistol that was to be his death-warrant.
How came you here, sir? demanded Ranulph.
Do you mean in this identical spot? replied Coates, evasively.
You can have no difficulty in answering that question, said the major, sternly.
Pardon me, sir. I find considerable difficulty in answering any question, situated as I am.
Have you seen Miss Mowbray? asked Ranulph, eagerly.
Or my mother? said the major, in the same breath.
Neither, replied Coates, rather relieved by these questions.
I suspect you are deceiving us, sir, said the major. "Your manner is confused. I am convinced you know more of this matter than you choose to explain; and if you do not satisfy me at once, fully and explicitly, I vow to Heaven----" and the major's sword described a glittering circle round his head.
Are you privy to their concealment? asked Ranulph. "Have you seen aught of them, or of Luke Bradley?"
Speak, or this moment is your last, said the major.
If it is my last, I cannot speak, returned Coates. "I can make neither head nor tail of your questions, gentlemen."
And you positively assure me you have not seen Mrs. Mowbray and her daughter? said Ranulph.
Turpin here winked at Coates. The attorney understood him.
I don't positively assert that, faltered he.
How!--you have seen them? shouted Ranulph.
Where are they?--in safety--speak! added the major.
Another expressive gesture from the highwayman communicated to the attorney the nature of his reply.
Without, sir--without--yonder, he replied. "I will show you myself. Follow, gentlemen, follow." And away scampered Coates, without once venturing to look behind him.
In an instant the ruined hall was deserted, and Turpin alone left behind. In the excitement of the moment his presence had been forgotten. In an instant afterwards the arena was again occupied by a company equally numerous. Rust and Wilder issued from their hiding-places, followed by a throng of the gipsy crew.
Where is Sir Luke Rookwood? asked Turpin.
He remains below, was the answer returned.
And Peter Bradley?
Stays there likewise.
No matter. Now make ready, pals. Give 'em one shout--Hurrah!
Hurrah! replied the crowd, at the top of their voices.
Ranulph Rookwood and his companions heard this shout. Mr. Coates had already explained the stratagem practised upon them by the wily highwayman, as well as the perilous situation in which he himself had been placed; and they were in the act of returning to make good his capture, when the loud shouts of the crew arrested them. From the clamor, it was evident that considerable reinforcement must have arrived from some unlooked-for quarter; and, although burning to be avenged upon the audacious highwayman, the major felt it would be a task of difficulty, and that extreme caution could alone ensure success. With difficulty restraining the impatience of Ranulph, who could scarcely brook these few minutes of needful delay, Major Mowbray gave particular instructions to each of the men in detail, and caused several of them to dismount. By this arrangement Mr. Coates found himself accommodated with a steed and a pair of pistols, with which latter he vowed to wreak his vengeance upon some of his recent tormentors. After a short space of time occupied in this manner, the troop slowly advanced towards the postern, in much better order than upon the previous occasion; but the stoutest of them quailed as they caught sight of the numerous gipsy-gang drawn out in battle array within the abbey walls. Each party scanned the other's movements in silence and wonder, anxiously awaiting, yet in a measure dreading, their leader's signal to begin. That signal was not long delayed. A shot from the ranks of Rookwood did instant and bitter execution. Rob Rust was stretched lifeless upon the ground. Nothing more was needed. The action now became general. Fire arms were discharged on both sides, without much damage to either party. But a rush being made by a detachment of horse, headed by Major Mowbray, the conflict soon became more serious. The gipsies, after the first fire, threw aside their pistols, and fought with long knives, with which they inflicted desperate gashes, both on men and horses. Major Mowbray was slightly wounded in the thigh, and his steed receiving the blow intended for himself, stumbled and threw his rider. Luckily for the major, Ranulph Rookwood was at hand, and with the butt-end of a heavy-handled pistol felled the ruffian to the earth, just as he was upon the point of repeating the thrust.
Turpin, meanwhile, had taken comparatively a small share in the conflict. He seemed to content himself with acting upon the defensive, and except in the case of Titus Tyrconnel, whom, espying amidst the crowd, he had considerably alarmed by sending a bullet through his wig, he did not fire a single shot. He also succeeded in unhorsing Coates, by hurling, with great dexterity, the empty pistol at his head. Though apparently unconcerned in the skirmish, he did not flinch from it, but kept his ground unyieldingly. "A charmed life" he seemed to bear; for amid the shower of bullets, many of which were especially aimed at himself, he came off unhurt.
He that's born to be hanged will never be drowned, that's certain, said Titus. "It's no use trying to bring him down. But, by Jasus! he's spoiled my best hat and wig, anyhow. There's a hole in my beaver as big as a crown piece."
Your own crown's safe, and that's some satisfaction, said Coates; "whereas mine has a bump on it as large as a swan's egg. Ah! if we could only get behind him."
The strife continued to rage without intermission; and though there were now several ghastly evidences of its fury, in the shape of wounded men and slaughtered or disabled horses, whose gaping wounds flooded the turf with gore, it was still difficult to see upon which side victory would eventually declare herself. The gipsies, though by far the greater sufferers of the two, firmly maintained their ground. Drenched in the blood of the horses they had wounded, and brandishing their long knives, they presented a formidable and terrific appearance, the effect of which was not at all diminished by their wild yells and savage gesticulations. On the other hand, headed by Major Mowbray and Ranulph, the troop of yeomen pressed on undauntedly; and where the sturdy farmers could get a firm gripe of their lithe antagonists, or deliver a blow with their ox-like fists, they seldom failed to make good the advantages which superior weight and strength gave them. It will thus be seen that as yet they were pretty well matched. Numbers were in favor of the gipsies, but courage was equally distributed, and, perhaps, what is emphatically called "bottom," was in favor of the rustics. Be this as it may, from what had already occurred, there was every prospect of a very serious termination to the fray.
From time to time Turpin glanced to the entrance of the cell, in the expectation of seeing Sir Luke Rookwood make his appearance; and, as he was constantly disappointed in his expectation, he could not conceal his chagrin. At length he resolved to despatch a messenger to him, and one of the crew accordingly departed upon this errand. He returned presently with a look of blank dismay.
In our hasty narrative of the fight we have not paused to particularize, neither have we enumerated, the list of the combatants. Amongst them, however, were Jerry Juniper, the knight of Malta, and Zoroaster. Excalibur, as may be conceived, had not been idle; but that trenchant blade had been shivered by Ranulph Rookwood in the early stage of the business, and the knight left weaponless. Zoroaster, who was not merely a worshipper of fire, but a thorough milling-cove, had engaged to some purpose in a pugilistic encounter with the rustics; and, having fought several rounds, now "bore his blushing honors thick upon him." Jerry, like Turpin, had remained tolerably quiescent. "The proper moment," he said, "had not arrived." A fatality seemed to attend Turpin's immediate companions. Rust was the first who fell; Wilder also was now among the slain. Things were precisely in this condition when the messenger returned. A marked change was instantly perceptible in Turpin's manner. He no longer looked on with indifference. He seemed angry and distrustful. He gnawed his lip, ever a sign with him of vexation. Addressing a few words to those about him, he then spoke more loudly to the rest of the crew. Being in the jargon of the tawny tribe, his words were not intelligible to the opposite party; but their import was soon made known by the almost instant and total relinquishment of the field by the gipsies. They took to their heels at once, to a man, leaving only a few desperately wounded behind them; and, flying along the intricate ruins of the priory, baffled all pursuit, wherever it was attempted. Jerry Juniper was the last in the retreat; but, upon receiving a hint from Dick, he vaulted like a roe over the heads of his adversaries, and made good his escape. Turpin alone remained. He stood like a lion at bay, quietly regarding the huntsmen hurtling around him. Ranulph Rookwood rode up and bade him surrender.
Detain me not, cried he, in a voice of thunder. "If you would save her who is dear to you, descend into that vault. Off, I say."
And Turpin shook away, with ease, the grasp that Ranulph had laid upon him.
Villain! you do not escape me this time, said Major Mowbray, interposing himself between Turpin and the outlet.
Major Mowbray, I would not have your blood upon my head, said Dick. "Let me pass," and he levelled a pistol.
Fire, if you dare! said the major, raising his sword. "You pass not. I will die rather than allow you to escape. Barricade the door. Strike him down if he attempts to pass. Richard Turpin, I arrest you in the king's name. You hear, my lads, in his majesty's name. I command you to assist me in this highwayman's capture. Two hundred pounds for his head."
Two hundred devils! exclaimed Dick, with a laugh of disdain. "Go, seek your mother and sister within yon vault, Major Mowbray; you will find employment enough there."
Saying which, he suddenly forced Bess to back a few yards; then, striking his heels sharply into her sides, ere his purpose could be divined by the spectators, charged, and cleared the lower part of the mouldering priory walls. This feat was apparently accomplished with no great effort by his admirable and unequalled mare.
By the powers! cried Titus, "and he's given us the slip after all. And just when we thought to make sure of him, too. Why, Mr. Coates, that wall must be higher than a five-barred gate, or any stone wall in my own country. It's just the most extraordinary lepp I ever set eyes on!"
The devil's in the fellow, certainly, or in his mare, returned Coates; "but if he escapes me, I'll forgive him. I know whither he's bound. He's off to London with my bill of exchange. I'll be up with him. I'll track him like a bloodhound, slowly and surely, as my father, the thief-taker, used to follow up a scent. Recollect the hare and the tortoise. The race is not always to the swift. What say you? 'Tis a match for five hundred pounds; nay, for five thousand: for there is a certain marriage certificate in the way--a glorious golden venture! You shall go halves, if we win. We'll have him, dead or alive. What say you for London, Mr. Tyrconnel? Shall we start at once?"
With all my sowl, replied Titus. "I'm with you." And away this par nobile scoured.
Ranulph, meantime, plunged into the vault. The floor was slippery, and he had nigh stumbled. Loud and deep lamentations, and a wailing sound, like that of a lament for the dead, resounded in his ears. A light at the further extremity of the vault attracted his attention. He was filled with terrible forebodings; but the worst reality was not so terrible as suspense. He rushed towards the light. He passed the massive pillars, and there, by the ruddy torch flame, discovered two female figures. One was an old woman, fantastically attired, wringing her hands, and moaning, or gibbering wild strains in broken, discordant, yet pathetic tones. The other was Mrs. Mowbray. Both were images of despair. Before them lay some motionless object. He noticed not that old woman; he scarcely saw Mrs. Mowbray; he beheld only that object of horror. It was the lifeless body of a female. The light fell imperfectly upon the face; he could not discern the features, but the veil in which it was swathed: that veil was Eleanor's! He asked no more.
With a wild cry he rushed forward. "Eleanor, my beloved!" shrieked he.
Mrs. Mowbray started at his voice, but appeared stunned and helpless.
She is dead, said Ranulph, stooping towards the body. "Dead--dead!"
Ay, echoed the old woman, in accents of equal anguish--"dead--dead!"
But this is not Eleanor, exclaimed he, as he viewed the features more closely. "This face, though beautiful, is not hers. This dishevelled hair is black. The long lashes that shade her cheek are of the same hue. She is scarce dead. The hand I clasp is yet warm--the fingers are pliant."
Yet she is dead, said the old woman, in a broken voice, "she is slain."
Who hath slain her? asked Ranulph.
I--I--her mother, slew her.
You! exclaimed Ranulph, horror-stricken. "And where is Eleanor?" asked he. "Was she not here?"
Better she were here now, even though she were as that poor maid, groaned Mrs. Mowbray, "than where she is."
Where is she, then? asked Ranulph, with frantic eagerness.
Fled. Whither I know not.
With whom?
With Sir Luke Rookwood--with Alan Rookwood. They have borne her hence. Ranulph, you are too late.
Gone! cried Ranulph, fiercely springing to his feet. "How escaped they? There appears to be but one entrance to this vault. I will search each nook and cranny."
'Tis vain, replied Mrs. Mowbray. "There is another outlet through yon cell. By that passage they escaped."
Too true, too true, shouted Ranulph, who flew to examine the cell. "And wherefore followed you not?"
The stone rolled to its mouth, and resisted my efforts. I could not follow.
Torture and death! She is lost to me for ever! cried Ranulph, bitterly.
No! exclaimed Barbara, clutching his arm. "Place your trust in me, and I will find her for you."
You! ejaculated Ranulph.
Even I, replied Barbara. "Your wrongs shall be righted--my Sybil be avenged."
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.
RICHARD TURPIN.
CHAPTER I. THE RENDEZVOUS AT KILBURN
Hind.
Drink deep, my brave boys, of the bastinado;
Of stramazons, tinctures, and slie passatas;
Of the carricado, and rare embrocado;
Of blades, and rapier-hilts of surest guard;
Of the Vincentio and Burgundian ward.
Have we not bravely tossed this bombast foil-button?
Win gold and wear gold, boys, 'tis we that merit it.
---Prince of Prigs' Revels.
An excellent Comedy, replete with various conceits and Tarltonian mirth.
The present straggling suburb at the north-west of the metropolis, known as Kilburn, had scarcely been called into existence a century ago, and an ancient hostel, with a few detached farmhouses, were the sole habitations to be found in the present populous vicinage. The place of refreshment for the ruralizing cockney of 1737 was a substantial-looking tenement of the good old stamp, with great bay windows, and a balcony in front, bearing as its ensign the jovial visage of the lusty knight, Jack Falstaff. Shaded by a spreading elm, a circular bench embraced the aged trunk of the tree, sufficiently tempting, no doubt, to incline the wanderer on those dusty ways to "rest and be thankful," and to cry encore to a frothing tankard of the best ale to be obtained within the chimes of Bow bells.
Upon a table, green as the privet and holly that formed the walls of the bower in which it was placed, stood a great china bowl, one of those leviathan memorials of bygone wassailry which we may sometimes espy--reversed in token of its desuetude--perched on the top of an old japanned closet, but seldom, if ever, encountered in its proper position at the genial board. All the appliances of festivity were at hand. Pipes and rummers strewed the board. Perfume, subtle, yet mellow, as of pine and lime, exhaled from out the bowl, and, mingling with the scent of a neighboring bed of mignonette and the subdued odor of the Indian weed, formed altogether as delectable an atmosphere of sweets as one could wish to inhale on a melting August afternoon. So, at least, thought the inmates of the arbor; nor did they by any means confine themselves to the gratification of a single sense. The ambrosial contents of the china bowl proved as delicious to the taste as its bouquet was grateful to the smell; while the eyesight was soothed by reposing on the smooth sward of a bowling-green spread out immediately before it, or in dwelling upon gently undulating meads, terminating, at about a mile's distance, in the woody, spire-crowned heights of Hampstead.
At the left of the table was seated, or rather lounged, a slender, elegant-looking young man, with dark, languid eyes, sallow complexion, and features wearing that peculiarly pensive expression often communicated by dissipation; an expression which, we regret to say, is sometimes found more pleasing than it ought to be in the eyes of the gentle sex. Habited in a light summer riding-dress, fashioned according to the taste of the time, of plain and unpretending material, and rather under than overdressed, he had, perhaps, on that very account, perfectly the air of a gentleman. There was, altogether, an absence of pretension about him, which, combined with great apparent self-possession, contrasted very forcibly with the vulgar assurance of his showy companions. The figure of the youth was slight, even to fragility, giving little outward manifestation of the vigor of frame he in reality possessed. This spark was a no less distinguished personage than Tom King, a noted high-tobygloak of his time, who obtained, from his appearance and address, the sobriquet of the "Gentleman Highwayman."
Tom was indeed a pleasant fellow in his day. His career was brief, but brilliant: your meteors are ever momentary. He was a younger son of a good family; had good blood in his veins, though not a groat in his pockets. According to the old song--
When he arrived at man's estate,
It was all the estate he had;
and all the estate he was ever likely to have. Nevertheless, if he had no income, he contrived, as he said, to live as if he had the mines of Peru at his control--a miracle not solely confined to himself. For a moneyless man, he had rather expensive habits. He kept his three nags; and, if fame does not belie him, a like number of mistresses; nay, if we are to place any faith in certain scandalous chronicles to which we have had access, he was for some time the favored lover of a celebrated actress, who, for the time, supplied him with the means of keeping up his showy establishment. But things could not long hold thus. Tom was a model of infidelity, and that was the only failing his mistress could not overlook. She dismissed him at a moment's notice. Unluckily, too, he had other propensities which contributed to involve him. He had a taste for the turf--a taste for play--was well known in the hundreds of Drury, and cut no mean figure at Howell's, and the faro tables there-anent. He was the glory of the Smyrna, D'Osyndar's, and other chocolate houses of the day; and it was at this time he fell into the hands of certain dexterous sharpers, by whom he was at first plucked and subsequently patronized. Under their tuition he improved wonderfully. He turned his wit and talent to some account. He began to open his eyes. His nine days' blindness was over. The dog saw. But, in spite of his quickness, he was at length discovered, and ejected from Howell's in a manner that left him no alternative. He must either have called out his adversary, or have gone out himself. He preferred the latter, and took to the road; and in his new line he was eminently successful. Fortunately, he had no scruples to get over. Tom had what Sir Walter Scott happily denominates "an indistinct notion of meum and tuum," and became confirmed in the opinion that everything he could lay hands upon constituted lawful spoil. And then, even those he robbed, admitted that he was the most gentlemanlike highwayman they had ever the fortune to meet with, and trusted they might always be so lucky. So popular did he become upon the road, that it was accounted a distinction to be stopped by him; he made a point of robbing none but gentlemen, and--Tom's shade would quarrel with us were we to omit them--ladies. His acquaintance with Turpin was singular, and originated in a rencontre. Struck with his appearance, Dick presented a pistol, and bade King deliver. The latter burst into a laugh, and an explanation immediately ensued. Thenceforward they became sworn brothers--the Pylades and Orestes of the road; and though seldom seen together in public, had many a merry moonlight ride in company.
Tom still maintained three mistresses, his valet, his groom--tiger, we should have called him,--"and many a change of clothes besides," says his biographer, "with which he appeared more like a lord than a highwayman." And what more, we should like to know, would a lord wish to have? Few younger sons, we believe, can boast so much; and it is chiefly on their account, with some remote view to the benefit of the unemployed youth of all professions, that we have enlarged so much upon Tom King's history. The road, we must beg to repeat, is still open; the chances are greater than they ever were; we fully believe it is their only road to preferment, and we are sadly in want of highwaymen!
Fancy Tom lounging at D'Osyndar's, carelessly tapping his boots on the steps; there he stands! Is he not a devilish good-looking, gentlemanlike sort of fellow? You could never have taken him for a highwayman but for our information. A waiter appears--supper is ordered at twelve--a broiled chicken and a bottle of Burgundy--his groom brings his nags to the door--he mounts. It is his custom to ride out on an evening--he is less liable to interruption. At Marylebone Fields--now the Regent's Park,--his groom leaves him. He has a mistress in the neighborhood. He is absent for a couple of hours, and returns gay or dispirited, as his luck may have turned out. At twelve he is at supper, and has the night before him. How very easy all this seems. Can it be possible we have no Tom Kings?
To return to Tom as he was in the arbor. Judging from his manner, he appeared to be almost insensible to the presence of his companions, and to be scarcely a partaker in their revelry. His back was towards his immediate neighbor; his glass sparkled untouched at his elbow; and one hand, beautifully white and small, a mark of his birth and breeding--crede Byron--rested upon the edge of the table, while his thin, delicate digits, palpably demonstrative of his faculty of adaptation--crede James Hardy Vaux--were employed with a silver toothpick. In other respects, he seemed to be lost in reverie, and was, in all probability, meditating new exploits.
Next to King sat our old friend Jerry Juniper; not, however, the Jerry of the gipsies, but a much more showy-looking personage. Jerry was no longer a gentleman of "three outs"--the difficulty would now have been to say what he was "without." Snakelike he had cast his slough, and rejoiced in new and brilliant investiture. His were "speaking garments, speaking pockets too." His linen was of the finest, his hose of the smartest. Gay rings glittered on his fingers; a crystal snuff-box underwent graceful manipulation; a handsome gold repeater was sometimes drawn from its location with a monstrous bunch of onions--anglice, seals--depending from its massive chain. Lace adorned his wrists, and shoes--of which they had been long unconscious,--with buckles nearly as large as themselves, confined his feet. A rich-powdered peruke and silver-hilted sword completed the gear of the transmogrified Jerry, or, as he now chose to be designated, Count Albert Conyers. The fact was, that Jerry, after the fracas, apprehensive that the country would be too hot for him, had, in company with Zoroaster, quitted the ranks of the Canting Crew, and made the best of his way to town. A lucky spice on the road set them up; and having some acquaintance with Tom King, the party, on their arrival, sought him out at his customary haunt, D'Osyndar's, and enlisted under his banners.
Tom received them with open arms, gave them unlimited use of his wardrobe, and only required a little trifling assistance in return. He had a grand scheme in petto, in the execution of which they could mainly assist him. Jerry was a Greek by nature, and could land a flat as well as the best of them. Zoroaster was just the man to lose a fight; or, in the language of the Fancy, to play a cross. No two legs could serve Tom's purposes better. He welcomed them with fraternal affection.
We will now proceed to reconnoitre Jerry's opposite neighbor, who was, however, no other than that Upright Man,
The Magus Zoroaster, that great name.
Changed as was Juniper, the Magus was yet more whimsically metamorphosed. Some traces of Jerry still remained, but not a vestige was left of the original Dimber Damber. His tawny mother had not known her son. This alteration, however, was not owing to change of dress; it was the result of the punishment he had received at the "set-to" at the priory. Not a feature was in its place; his swollen lip trespassed upon the precincts of his nose; his nose trod hard upon his cheek; while his cheek again, not to be behind the rest, rose up like an apple-dumpling under his single eye,--single, we say--for, alas! there was no speculation in the other. His dexter daylight was utterly darkened, and, indeed, the orb that remained was as sanguinary a luminary as ever struggled through a London fog at noonday. To borrow a couplet or so from the laureate of the Fancy:
-----One of his peepers was put
On the bankruptcy list, with his shop windows shut,
While the other made nearly as tag-rag a show,
All rimmed round with black like the Courier in woe.
One black patch decorated his rainbow-colored cheek; another adorned his chin; a grinder having been dislodged, his pipe took possession of the aperture. His toggery was that of a member of the prize-ring; what we now call a "belcher" bound his throat; a spotted fogle bandaged his jobbernowl, and shaded his right peeper, while a white beaver crowned the occiput of the Magus. And though, at first sight, there would appear to be some incongruity in the association of such a battered character as the Upright Man with his smart companions, the reader's wonder will rapidly diminish, when he reflects that any distinguished P. C. man can ever find a ready passport to the most exclusive society. Viewed in this light, Zoroaster's familiarity with his swell acquaintance occasioned no surprise to old Simon Carr, the bottle-nosed landlord of the Falstaff, who was a man of discernment in his way, and knew a thing or two. Despite such striking evidences to the contrary, the Magus was perfectly at his ease, and sacrificing as usual to the god of flame. His mithra, or pipe, the symbol of his faith, was zealously placed between his lips, and never did his Chaldean, Bactrian, Persian, Pamphylian, Proconnesian, or Babylonian namesake, whichever of the six was the true Zoroaster--vide Bayle,--respire more fervently at the altar of fire, than our Magus at the end of his enkindled tube. In his creed we believe Zoroaster was a dualist, and believed in the co-existence and mystical relation of the principles of good and ill; his pipe being his Yezdan, or benign influence; his empty pouch his Ahreman, or the devil. We shall not pause to examine his tenets; we meddle with no man's religious opinions, and shall leave the Magus to the enjoyment of his own sentiments, be they what they may.
One guest alone remains, and him we shall briefly dismiss. The reader, we imagine, will scarcely need to be told who was the owner of those keen gray eyes; those exuberant red whiskers; that airy azure frock. It was
Our brave co-partner of the roads.
Skilful surveyor of highways and hedges;
in a word--Dick Turpin!
Dick had been called upon to act as president of the board, and an excellent president he made, sedulously devoting himself to the due administration of the punch-bowl. Not a rummer was allowed to stand empty for an instant. Toast, sentiment, and anacreontic song, succeeded each other at speedy intervals; but there was no speechifying--no politics. He left church and state to take care of themselves. Whatever his politics might be, Dick never allowed them to interfere with his pleasures. His maxim was to make the most of the passing moment; the dum vivimus vivamus was never out of his mind; a precautionary measure which we recommend to the adoption of all gentlemen of the like, or any other precarious profession.
Notwithstanding all Dick's efforts to promote conviviality, seconded by the excellence of the beverage itself, conversation, somehow or other, began to flag; from being general it became particular. Tom King, who was no punch-bibber, especially at that time of day, fell into a deep reverie; your gamesters often do so; while the Magus, who had smoked himself drowsy, was composing himself to a doze. Turpin seized this opportunity of addressing a few words on matters of business to Jerry Juniper, or, as he now chose to be called, Count Conyers.
My dear count, said Dick, in a low and confidential tone, "you are aware that my errand to town is accomplished. I have smashed Lawyer Coates's screen, pocketed the dimmock--here 'tis," continued he, parenthetically, slapping his pockets,--"and done t'other trick in prime twig for Tom King. With a cool thousand in hand, I might, if I chose, rest awhile on my oars. But a quiet life don't suit me. I must be moving. So I shall start to Yorkshire to-night."
Indeed! said the soi-disant count, in a languid tone--"so soon?"
I have nothing to detain me, replied Dick. "And, to tell you the truth, I want to see how matters stand with Sir Luke Rookwood. I should be sorry if he went to the wall for want of any assistance I can render him."
True, returned the count; "one would regret such an occurrence, certainly. But I fear your assistance may arrive a little too late. He is pretty well done up, I should imagine, by this time."
That remains to be seen, said Turpin. "His case is a bad one, to be sure, but I trust not utterly hopeless. With all his impetuosity and pride, I like the fellow, and will help him, if I can. It will be a difficult game to set him on his legs, but I think it may be done. That underground marriage was sheer madness, and turned out as ill as such a scheme might have been expected to do. Poor Sybil! if I could pipe an eye for anything, it should be for her. I can't get her out of my head. Give me a pinch of snuff. Such thoughts unman one. As to the priest, that's a totally different affair. If he strangled his daughter, old Alan did right to take the law into his own hands, and throttle him in return. I'd have done the same thing myself; and, being a proscribed Jesuit, returned, as I understand, without the king's license for so doing, why Father Checkley's murder--if it must be so called, I can't abide hard terms--won't lie very heavy at Alan's door. That, however, has nothing to do with Sir Luke. He was neither accessory nor principal. Still he will be in danger, at least from Lady Rookwood. The whole county of York, I make no doubt, is up in arms by this time."
Then why go thither? asked the count, somewhat ironically; "for my part, I've a strange fancy for keeping out of harm's way as long as possible."
Every man to his taste, returned Turpin; "I love to confront danger. Run away! pshaw! always meet your foe."
True, replied the count, "half-way! but you go the whole distance. What prudent man would beard the lion in his den?"
I never was a prudent man, rejoined Dick, smiling; "I have no superfluous caution about me. Come what will, I shall try to find out this Luke Rookwood, and offer him my purse, such as it is, and it is now better lined than usual; a hand free to act as he lists; and a head which, imprudent though it be, can often think better for others than for its own master."
Vastly fine! exclaimed the count, with an ill-disguised sneer. "I hope you don't forget that the marriage certificate which you hold is perfectly valueless now. The estates, you are aware----"
Are no longer Sir Luke's. I see what you are driving at, count, returned Dick, coldly. "But he will need it to establish his claim to the title, and he shall have it. While he was Sir Luke, with ten thousand a year, I drove a hard bargain, and would have stood out for the last stiver. Now that he is one of 'us', a mere Knight of the Road, he shall have it and welcome."
Perhaps Lady Rookwood, or Mrs. Mowbray, might be inclined to treat, maliciously insinuated the count; "the title may be worth something to Ranulph."
It is worth more to Luke; and if it were not, he gets it. Are you satisfied?
Perfectly, replied the count, with affected bonhomie; "and I will now let you into a secret respecting Miss Mowbray, from which you may gather something for your guidance in this matter; and if the word of a woman is at all to be trusted, though individually I cannot say I have much faith in it, Sir Luke's planetary hour is not yet completely overcast."
That's exactly what I wish to know, my dear fellow, said Turpin, eagerly. "You have already told me you were witness to a singular interview between Miss Mowbray and Sir Luke after my departure from the priory. If I mistook you not, the whole business will hinge upon that. What occurred? Let me have every particular. The whole history and mystery."
You shall have it with pleasure, said the count; "and I hope it may tend to your benefit. After I had quitted the scene of action at the priory, and at your desire left the Rookwood party masters of the field, I fled with the rest of the crew towards the rocks. There we held a council of war for a short time. Some were for returning to the fight; but this was negatived entirely, and in the end it was agreed that those who had wives, daughters, and sisters, should join them as speedily as possible at their retreat in the Grange. As I happened to have none of these attractive ties, and had only a troublesome mistress, who I thought could take care of herself, I did not care to follow them, but struck deeper into the wood, and made my way, guided by destiny, I suppose, towards the cave."
The cave! cried Dick, rubbing his hands; "I delight in a cave. Tom King and I once had a cave of our own at Epping, and I'll have another one of these fine days. A cave is as proper to a high-tobyman as a castle to a baron. Pray go on."
The cave I speak of, continued the count, "was seldom used, except upon great emergencies, by any of the Stop Hole Abbey crew. It was a sort of retiring den of our old lioness Barbara, and, like all belonging to her, respected by her dupes. However, the cave is a good cave for all that; is well concealed by brushwood, and comfortably lighted from a crevice in the rock above; it lies near the brink of the stream, amongst the woods just above the waterfall, and is somewhat difficult of approach."
I know something of the situation, said Turpin.
Well, returned the count, "not to lose time, into this den I crept, and, expecting to find it vacant, you may imagine my surprise on discovering that it was already occupied, and that Sir Luke Rookwood, his granddad, old Alan, Miss Mowbray, and, worst of all, the very person I wished most to avoid, my old flame Handassah, constituted the party. Fortunately, they did not perceive my entrance, and I took especial care not to introduce myself. Retreat, however, was for the moment impracticable, and I was compelled to be a listener. I cannot tell what had passed between the parties before my arrival, but I heard Miss Mowbray implore Sir Luke to conduct her to her mother. He seemed half inclined to comply with her entreaties; but old Alan shook his head. It was then Handassah put in a word; the minx was ever ready at that. 'Fear not,' said she, 'that she will wed Sir Ranulph. Deliver her to her friends, I beseech you, Sir Luke, and woo her honorably. She will accept you.' Sir Luke stared incredulously, and grim old Alan smiled. 'She has sworn to be yours,' continued Handassah; 'sworn it by every hope of heaven, and the oath has been sealed by blood--by Sybil's blood.'--'Does she speak the truth?' asked Sir Luke, trembling with agitation. Miss Mowbray answered not. 'You will not deny it, lady,' said Handassah. 'I heard that oath proposed. I saw it registered. You cannot deny it.'--'I do not,' replied Miss Mowbray, with much anguish of manner; 'if he claim me, I am his.'--'And he will claim you,' said Alan Rookwood, triumphantly. 'He has your oath, no matter how extorted--you must fulfil your vow.'--'I am prepared to do so,' said Eleanor. 'But if you would not utterly destroy me, let this maid conduct me to my mother, to my friends.'--'To Ranulph?' asked Sir Luke, bitterly.--'No, no,' returned Miss Mowbray, in accents of deepest despair, 'to my mother--I wish not to behold him again.'--'Be it so,' cried Sir Luke; 'but remember, in love or hate, you are mine; I shall claim the fulfilment of your oath. Farewell. Handassah will lead you to your mother.' Miss Mowbray bowed her head, but returned no answer, while, followed by old Alan, Sir Luke departed from the cavern."
Whither went they? demanded Turpin.
That I know not, replied Jerry. "I was about to follow, when I was prevented by the abrupt entrance of another party. Scarcely, I think, could the two Rookwoods have made good their retreat, when shouts were heard without, and young Ranulph and Major Mowbray forced their way, sword in hand, into the cave. Here was a situation--for me, I mean--to the young lady, I make no doubt, it was pleasant enough. But my neck was in jeopardy. However, you know I am not deficient in strength, and, upon the present occasion, I made the best use of the agility with which nature has endowed me. Amidst the joyous confusion--the sobbings, and embracings, and congratulations that ensued--I contrived, like a wild cat, to climb the rocky sides of the cave, and concealed myself behind a jutting fragment of stone. It was well I did so, for scarcely was I hidden, when in came old Barbara, followed by Mrs. Mowbray, and a dozen others."
Barbara! ejaculated Dick. "Was she a prisoner?"
No, replied Jerry; "the old hell-cat is too deep for that. She had betrayed Sir Luke, and hoped they would seize him and his granddad. But the birds were flown."
I'm glad she was baulked, said Dick. "Was any search made after them?"
Can't say, replied Jerry. "I could only indistinctly catch the sounds of their voices from my lofty retreat. Before they left the cavern, I made out that Mrs. Mowbray resolved to go to Rookwood, and to take her daughter thither--a proceeding to which the latter demurred."
To Rookwood, said Dick, musingly. "Will she keep her oath, I wonder?"
That's more than I can say, said Jerry, sipping his punch. "'Tis a deceitful sex!"
'Tis a deceitful sex, indeed, echoed Dick, tossing off a tumbler. "For one Sybil we meet with twenty Handassahs, eh, count?"
Twenty!--say rather a hundred, replied Jerry. "'Tis a vile sex."
Grimm.
How gloriously the sun sets to-night.
Moor.
When I was a boy, my favorite thought was, that I should
live and die like yonder glorious orb. It was a boyish thought.
Grimm.
True, captain.
---The Robbers.
Peace, base calumniators, exclaimed Tom King, aroused from his toothpick reverie by these aspersions of the best part of creation. "Peace, I say. None shall dare abuse that dear devoted sex in the hearing of their champion, without pricking a lance with him in their behalf. What do you, either of you, who abuse woman in that wholesale style, know of her? Nothing--less than nothing; and yet you venture, upon your paltry experience, to lift up your voices and decry the sex. Now I do know her; and upon my own experience avouch, that, as a sex, woman, compared with man, is as an angel to a devil. As a sex, woman is faithful, loving, self-sacrificing. We 'tis that make her otherwise; we, selfish, exacting, neglectful men; we teach her indifference, and then blame her apt scholarship. We spoil our own hand, and then blame the cards. No abuse of women in my hearing. Give me a glass of grog, Dick. 'The sex!--three times three!'--and here's a song for you into the bargain." Saying which, in a mellow, plaintive tone, Tom gave the following:
PLEDGE OF THE HIGHWAYMAN
Come, fill up a bumper to Eve's fairest daughters,
Who have lavished their smiles on the brave and the free;
Toast the sweethearts of DUDLEY, HIND, WILMOT, and WATERS,
Whate'er their attraction, whate'er their degree.
Pledge! pledge in a bumper, each kind-hearted maiden,
Whose bright eyes were dimmed at the highwayman's fall;
Who stood by the gallows with sorrow o'erladen,
Bemoaning the fate of the gallant DU-VAL!
Here's to each lovely lass chance of war bringeth near one,
Whom, with manner impassioned, we tenderly stop;
And to whom, like the lover addressing his dear one,
In terms of entreaty the question we pop.
How oft, in such case, rosy lips have proved sweeter
Than the rosiest book, bright eyes saved a bright ring;
While that one other kiss has brought off a repeater,
And a bead as a favor--the favorite string.
With our hearts ready rifled, each pocket we rifle,
With the pure flame of chivalry stirring our breasts;
Life's risk for our mistress's praise is a trifle;
And each purse as a trophy our homage attests.
Then toss off your glasses to all girls of spirit,
Ne'er with names, or with number, your memories vex;
Our toast, boys, embraces each woman of merit,
And, for fear of omission, we'll drink the WHOLE SEX.
Well, replied Dick, replenishing King's rummer, while he laughed heartily at his ditty, "I shan't refuse your toast, though my heart don't respond to your sentiments. Ah, Tom! the sex you praise so much will, I fear, prove your undoing. Do as you please, but curse me if ever I pin my life to a petticoat. I'd as soon think of neglecting the four cautions."
The four cautions, said King; "what are they?"
Did you never hear them? replied Dick. "Attend, then, and be edified."
THE FOUR CAUTIONS
Pay attention to these cautions four,
And through life you will need little more,
Should you dole out your days to threescore
Beware of a pistol before!
Before! before!
Beware of a pistol before!
And when backward his ears are inclined,
And his tail with his ham is combined,
Caution two you will bear in your mind:
Beware of a prancer behind!
Behind! behind!
Beware of a prancer behind!
Thirdly, when in the park you may ride,
On your best bit of blood, sir, astride,
Chatting gay to your old friend's young bride:
Beware of a coach at the side!
At the side! at the side!
Beware of a coach at the side!
Lastly, whether in purple or gray,
Canter, ranter, grave, solemn, or gay,
Whate'er he may do or may say,
Beware of a priest every way!
Every way! every way!
Beware of a priest every way!
Well, said Tom King, "all you can sing or say don't alter my good opinion of the women. Not a secret have I from the girl of my heart. She could have sold me over and over again if she had chosen, but my sweet Sue is not the wench to do that."
It is not too late, said Dick. "Your Delilah may yet hand you over to the Philistines."
Then I shall die in a good cause, said King; "but
The Tyburn Tree
Has no terrors for me,
Let better men swing--I'm at liberty.
I shall never come to the scragging-post, unless you turn topsman, Dick Turpin. My nativity has been cast, and the stars have declared I am to die by the hand of my best friend--and that's you--eh? Dick?"
It sounds like it, replied Turpin; "but I advise you not to become too intimate with Jack Ketch. He may prove your best friend, after all."
Why, faith, that's true, replied King, laughing; "and if I must ride backwards up Holborn Hill, I'll do the thing in style, and honest Jack Ketch shall never want his dues. A man should always die game. We none of us know how soon our turn may come; but come when it will, I shall never flinch from it.
As the highwayman's life is the fullest of zest,
So the highwayman's death is the briefest and best;
He dies not as other men die, by degrees,
But at once! without flinching--and quite at his ease!
as the song you are so fond of says. When I die it will not be of consumption. And if the surgeon's knife must come near me, it will be after death. There's some comfort in that reflection, at all events."
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 crost fights,
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.
Ecarte, 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-apres
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.
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."
As if conscious of what was passing around her, and of the danger that awaited her master, Black Bess exhibited so much impatience, and plunged so violently, that it was with difficulty the ostler could hold her. "The devil's in the mare," said he; "what's the matter with her? She was quiet enough a few minutes since. Soho! lass, stand."
Turpin and King, meanwhile, walked quickly through the house, preceded by the host, who conducted them, and not without some inward trepidation, towards the door. Arrived there, each man rushed swiftly to his horse. Dick was in the saddle in an instant, and stamping her foot on the ostler's leg, Black Bess compelled the man, yelling with pain, to quit his hold of the bridle. Tom King was not equally fortunate. Before he could mount his horse, a loud shout was raised, which startled the animal, and caused him to swerve, so that Tom lost his footing in the stirrup, and fell to the ground. He was instantly seized by Paterson, and a struggle commenced, King endeavoring, but in vain, to draw a pistol.
Flip him, Dick; fire, or I'm taken, cried King. "Fire! damn you, why don't you fire?" shouted he, in desperation, still struggling vehemently with Paterson, who was a strong man, and more than a match for a light weight like King.
I can't, cried Dick; "I shall hit you, if I fire."
Take your chance, shouted King. "Is this your friendship?"
Thus urged, Turpin fired. The ball ripped up the sleeve of Paterson's coat, but did not wound him.
Again! cried King. "Shoot him, I say. Don't you hear me? Fire again!"
Pressed as he was by foes on every side, himself their mark, for both Coates and Tyrconnel had fired upon him, and were now mounting their steeds to give chase, it was impossible that Turpin could take sure aim; added to which, in the struggle, Paterson and King were each moment changing their relative positions. He, however, would no longer hesitate, but again, at his friend's request, fired. The ball lodged itself in King's breast! He fell at once. At this instant a shriek was heard from the chaise: the window was thrown open, and her thick veil being drawn aside, the features of a very pretty female, now impressed with terror and contrition, were suddenly exhibited.
King fixed his glazing eyes upon her.
Susan! sighed he, "is it you that I behold?"
Yes, yes, 'tis she, sure enough, said Paterson. "You see, ma'am, what you and such like have brought him to. However, you'll lose your reward; he's going fast enough."
Reward! gasped King; "reward! Did she betray me?"
Ay, ay, sir, said Paterson, "she blowed the gaff, if it's any consolation to you to know it."
Consolation! repeated the dying man; "perfidious!--oh!--the prophecy--my best friend--Turpin--I die by his hand."
And vainly striving to raise himself, he fell backwards and expired. Alas, poor Tom!
Mr. Paterson! Mr. Paterson! cried Coates; "leave the landlord to look after the body of that dying ruffian, and mount with us in pursuit of the living rascal. Come, sir; quick! mount! despatch! You see he is yonder; he seems to hesitate; we shall have him now."
Well, gemmen, I'm ready, said Paterson; "but how the devil came you to let him escape?"
Saint Patrick only knows! said Titus; "he's as slippery as an eel--and, like a cat, turn him which way you will, he is always sure to alight upon his legs. I wouldn't wonder but we lose him now, after all, though he has such a small start. That mare flies like the wind."
He shall have a tight run for it, at all events, said Paterson, putting spurs into his horse. "I've got a good nag under me, and you are neither of you badly mounted. He's only three hundred yards before us, and the devil's in it if we can't run him down. It's a three hundred pound job, Mr. Coates, and well worth a race."
You shall have another hundred from me, sir, if you take him, said Coates, urging his steed forward.
Thank you, sir, thank you. Follow my directions, and we'll make sure of him, said the constable. "Gently, gently, not so fast up the hill--you see he's breathing his horse. All in good time, Mr. Coates--all in good time, sir."
And maintaining an equal distance, both parties cantered leisurely up the ascent now called Windmill Hill. We shall now return to Turpin.
Aghast at the deed he had accidentally committed, Dick remained for a few moments irresolute; he perceived that King was mortally wounded, and that all attempts at rescue would be fruitless; he perceived, likewise, that Jerry and the Magus had effected their escape from the bowling-green, as he could detect their figures stealing along the hedge-side. He hesitated no longer. Turning his horse, he galloped slowly off, little heeding the pursuit with which he was threatened.
Every bullet has its billet, said Dick; "but little did I think that I really should turn poor Tom's executioner. To the devil with this rascally snapper," cried he, throwing the pistol over the hedge. "I could never have used it again. 'Tis strange, too, that he should have foretold his own fate--devilish strange! And then that he should have been betrayed by the very blowen he trusted! that's a lesson, if I wanted any. But trust a woman!--not I, the length of my little finger."
Six gentlemen upon the road
Thus seeing Gilpin fly,
With postboy scampering in the rear,
They raised the hue and cry:
Stop thief! stop thief! a highwayman!
Not one of them was mute;
And all and each that passed that way
Did join in the pursuit.
John Gilpin.
Arrived at the brow of the hill, whence such a beautiful view of the country surrounding the metropolis is obtained, Turpin turned for an instant to reconnoitre his pursuers. Coates and Titus he utterly disregarded; but Paterson was a more formidable foe, and he well knew that he had to deal with a man of experience and resolution. It was then, for the first time, that the thoughts of executing his extraordinary ride to York first flashed across him; his bosom throbbed high with rapture, and he involuntarily exclaimed aloud, as he raised himself in the saddle, "By God! I will do it!"
Since the earlier editions of this Romance were published, we regret to state--for to us, at least, it is matter of regret, though probably not to the travellers along the Edgeware Road--that this gentle ascent has been cut through, and the fair prospect from its brow utterly destroyed.]
He took one last look at the great Babel that lay buried in a world of trees beneath him; and as his quick eye ranged over the magnificent prospect, lit up by that gorgeous sunset, he could not help thinking of Tom King's last words. "Poor fellow!" thought Dick, "he said truly. He will never see another sunset." Aroused by the approaching clatter of his pursuers, Dick struck into a lane which lies on the right of the road, now called Shoot-up-hill Lane, and set off at a good pace in the direction of Hampstead.
Now, cried Paterson, "put your tits to it, my boys. We must not lose sight of him for a second in these lanes."
Accordingly, as Turpin was by no means desirous of inconveniencing his mare in this early stage of the business, and as the ground was still upon an ascent, the parties preserved their relative distances.
At length, after various twistings and turnings in that deep and devious lane; after scaring one or two farmers, and riding over a brood or two of ducks; dipping into the verdant valley of West End, and ascending another hill, Turpin burst upon the gorsy, sandy, and beautiful heath of Hampstead. Shaping his course to the left, Dick then made for the lower part of the heath, and skirted a path that leads towards North End, passing the furze-crowned summit which is now crested by a clump of lofty pines.
It was here that the chase first assumed a character of interest. Being open ground, the pursued and pursuers were in full view of each other; and as Dick rode swiftly across the heath, with the shouting trio hard at his heels, the scene had a very animated appearance. He crossed the hill--the Hendon Road--passed Crackskull Common--and dashed along the cross road to Highgate.
Hitherto no advantage had been gained by the pursuers; they had not lost ground, but still they had not gained an inch, and much spurring was required to maintain their position. As they approached Highgate, Dick slackened his pace, and the other party redoubled their efforts. To avoid the town, Dick struck into a narrow path at the right, and rode easily down the hill.
His pursuers were now within a hundred yards, and shouted to him to stand. Pointing to a gate which seemed to bar their further progress, Dick unhesitatingly charged it, clearing it in beautiful style. Not so with Coates's party; and the time they lost in unfastening the gate, which none of them chose to leap, enabled Dick to put additional space betwixt them. It did not, however, appear to be his intention altogether to outstrip his pursuers: the chase seemed to give him excitement, which he was willing to prolong as much as was consistent with his safety. Scudding rapidly past Highgate, like a swift-sailing schooner, with three lumbering Indiamen in her wake, Dick now took the lead along a narrow lane that threads the fields in the direction of Hornsey. The shouts of his followers had brought others to join them, and as he neared Crouch End, traversing the lane which takes its name from Du-Val, and in which a house frequented by that gayest of robbers stands, or stood, "A highwayman! a highwayman!" rang in his ears, in a discordant chorus of many voices.
The whole neighborhood was alarmed by the cries, and by the tramp of horses: the men of Hornsey rushed into the road to seize the fugitive, and women held up their babes to catch a glimpse of the flying cavalcade, which seemed to gain number and animation as it advanced. Suddenly three horsemen appear in the road--they hear the uproar and the din. "A highwayman! a highwayman!" cry the voices: "stop him, stop him!" But it is no such easy matter. With a pistol in each hand, and his bridle in his teeth, Turpin passed boldly on. His fierce looks--his furious steed--the impetus with which he pressed forward, bore down all before him. The horsemen gave way, and only served to swell the list of his pursuers.
We have him now--we have him now! cried Paterson, exultingly. "Shout for your lives. The turnpike man will hear us. Shout again--again! The fellow has heard it. The gate is shut. We have him. Ha, ha!"
The old Hornsey toll-bar was a high gate, with chevaux-de-frise on the upper rail. It may be so still. The gate was swung into its lock, and, like a tiger in his lair, the prompt custodian of the turnpike trusts, ensconced within his doorway, held himself in readiness to spring upon the runaway. But Dick kept steadily on. He coolly calculated the height of the gate; he looked to the right and to the left--nothing better offered; he spoke a few words of encouragement to Bess, gently patted her neck, then struck his spurs into her sides, and cleared the spikes by an inch. Out rushed the amazed turnpike man, thus unmercifully bilked, and was nearly trampled to death under the feet of Paterson's horse.
Open the gate, fellow, and be expeditious, shouted the chief constable.
Not I, said the man, sturdily, "unless I gets my dues. I've been done once already. But strike me stupid if I'm done a second time."
Don't you perceive that's a highwayman? Don't you know that I'm chief constable of Westminster? said Paterson, showing his staff. "How dare you oppose me in the discharge of my duty?"
That may be, or it may not be, said the man, doggedly. "But you don't pass, unless I gets the blunt, and that's the long and short on it."
Amidst a storm of oaths, Coates flung down a crown piece, and the gate was thrown open.
Turpin took advantage of this delay to breathe his mare; and, striking into a by-lane at Duckett's Green, cantered easily along in the direction of Tottenham. Little repose was allowed him. Yelling like a pack of hounds in full cry, his pursuers were again at his heels. He had now to run the gauntlet of the long straggling town of Tottenham, and various were the devices of the populace to entrap him. The whole place was up in arms, shouting, screaming, running, dancing, and hurling every possible description of missile at the horse and her rider. Dick merrily responded to their clamor as he flew past, and laughed at the brickbats that were showered thick as hail, and quite as harmlessly, around him.
A few more miles' hard riding tired the volunteers, and before the chase reached Edmonton most of them were "nowhere." Here fresh relays were gathered, and a strong field was again mustered. John Gilpin himself could not have excited more astonishment amongst the good folks of Edmonton, than did our highwayman as he galloped through their town. Unlike the men of Tottenham, the mob received him with acclamations, thinking, no doubt, that, like "the citizens of famous London town," he rode for a wager. Presently, however, borne on the wings of the blast, came the cries of "Turpin! Dick Turpin!" and the hurrahs were changed to hootings; but such was the rate at which our highwayman rode, that no serious opposition could be offered to him.
A man in a donkey-cart, unable to get out of the way, drew himself up in the middle of the road. Turpin treated him as he had done the dub at the knapping jigger, and cleared the driver and his little wain with ease. This was a capital stroke, and well adapted to please the multitude, who are ever taken with a brilliant action. "Hark away, Dick!" resounded on all hands, while hisses were as liberally bestowed upon his pursuers.
The Peons are capital horsemen, and several times we saw them, at a gallop, throw the rein on the horse's neck, take from one pocket a bag of loose tobacco, and, with a piece of paper, or a leaf of Indian corn, make a cigar, and then take out a flint and steel and light it.
---HEAD'S Rough Notes.
Away they fly past scattered cottages, swiftly and skimmingly, like eagles on the wing, along the Enfield highway. All were well mounted, and the horses, now thoroughly warmed, had got into their paces, and did their work beautifully. None of Coates's party lost ground, but they maintained it at the expense of their steeds, which were streaming like water-carts, while Black Bess had scarcely turned a hair.
Turpin, the reader already knows, was a crack rider; he was the crack rider of England of his time, and, perhaps, of any time. The craft and mystery of jockeyship was not so well understood in the eighteenth as it is in the nineteenth century; men treated their horses differently, and few rode them as well as many ride now, when every youngster takes to the field as naturally as if he had been bred a Guacho. Dick Turpin was a glorious exception to the rule, and anticipated a later age. He rode wonderfully lightly, yet sat his saddle to perfection, distributing the weight so exquisitely that his horse scarcely felt his pressure; he yielded to every movement made by the animal, and became, as it were, part and parcel of itself; he took care Bess should be neither strained nor wrung. Freely, and as lightly as a feather, was she borne along; beautiful was it to see her action--to watch her style and temper of covering the ground; and many a first-rate Meltonian might have got a wrinkle from Turpin's seat and conduct.
We have before stated that it was not Dick's object to ride away from his pursuers--he could have done that at any moment. He liked the fun of the chase, and would have been sorry to put a period to his own excitement. Confident in his mare, he just kept her at such speed as should put his pursuers completely to it, without in the slightest degree inconveniencing himself. Some judgment of the speed at which they went may be formed, when we state that little better than an hour had elapsed and nearly twenty miles had been ridden over. "Not bad travelling that," methinks we hear the reader exclaim.
By the mother that bore me, said Titus, as they went along in this slapping style--Titus, by-the-by, rode a big, Roman-nosed, powerful horse, well adapted to his weight, but which required a plentiful exercise both of leg and arm to call forth all his action, and keep his rider alongside his companions--"by the mother that bore me," said he, almost thumping the wind out of his flea-bitten Bucephalus with his calves, after the Irish fashion, "if the fellow isn't lighting his pipe! I saw the sparks fly on each side of him, and there he goes like a smoky chimney on a frosty morning! See, he turns his impudent phiz, with the pipe in his mouth! Are we to stand that, Mr. Coates?"
Wait awhile, sir--wait awhile, said Coates; "we'll smoke him by-and-by."
Paeans have been sung in honor of the Peons of the Pampas by the Headlong Sir Francis; but what the gallant major extols so loudly in the South American horsemen, viz., the lighting of a cigar when in mid career, was accomplished with equal ease by our English highwayman a hundred years ago, nor was it esteemed by him any extravagant feat either. Flint, steel, and tinder were bestowed within Dick's ample pouch, the short pipe was at hand, and within a few seconds there was a stream of vapor exhaling from his lips, like the smoke from a steamboat shooting down the river, and tracking his still rapid course through the air.
I'll let 'em see what I think of 'em! said Dick, coolly, as he turned his head.
It was now gray twilight. The mists of coming night were weaving a thin curtain over the rich surrounding landscape. All the sounds and hum of that delicious hour were heard, broken only by the regular clatter of the horses' hoofs. Tired of shouting, the chasers now kept on their way in deep silence; each man held his breath, and plunged his spurs, rowel deep, into his horse; but the animals were already at the top of their speed, and incapable of greater exertion. Paterson, who was a hard rider, and perhaps a thought better mounted, kept the lead. The rest followed as they might.
Had it been undisturbed by the rush of the cavalcade, the scene would have been still and soothing. Overhead a cloud of rooks were winging their garrulous flight to the ancestral avenue of an ancient mansion to the right; the bat was on the wing; the distant lowing of a herd of kine saluted the ear at intervals; the blithe whistle of the rustic herdsman, and the merry chime of waggon bells, rang pleasantly from afar. But these cheerful sounds, which make the still twilight hour delightful, were lost in the tramp of the horsemen, now three abreast. The hind fled to the hedge for shelter, and the waggoner pricked up his ears, and fancied he heard the distant rumbling of an earthquake.
On rush the pack, whipping, spurring, tugging for very life. Again they gave voice, in hopes the waggoner might succeed in stopping the fugitive. But Dick was already by his side. "Harkee, my tulip," cried he, taking the pipe from his mouth as he passed, "tell my friends behind they will hear of me at York."
What did he say? asked Paterson, coming up the next moment.
That you'll find him at York, replied the waggoner.
At York! echoed Coates, in amaze.
Turpin was now out of sight, and although our trio flogged with might and main, they could never catch a glimpse of him until, within a short distance of Ware, they beheld him at the door of a little public house, standing with his bridle in his hand, coolly quaffing a tankard of ale. No sooner were they in sight, than Dick vaulted into the saddle, and rode off.
Devil seize you, sir! why didn't you stop him? exclaimed Paterson, as he rode up. "My horse is dead lame. I cannot go any further. Do you know what a prize you have missed? Do you know who that was?"
No, sir, I don't, said the publican. "But I know he gave his mare more ale than he took himself, and he has given me a guinea instead of a shilling. He's a regular good 'un."
A good 'un! said Paterson; "it was Turpin, the notorious highwayman. We are in pursuit of him. Have you any horses? our cattle are all blown."
You'll find the post-house in the town, gentlemen. I'm sorry I can't accommodate you. But I keeps no stabling. I wish you a very good evening, sir. Saying which, the publican retreated to his domicile.
That's a flash crib, I'll be bound, said Paterson. "I'll chalk you down, my friend, you may rely upon it. Thus far we're done, Mr. Coates. But curse me if I give it in. I'll follow him to the world's end first."
Right, sir--right, said the attorney. "A very proper spirit, Mr. Constable. You would be guilty of neglecting your duty were you to act otherwise. You must recollect my father, Mr. Paterson--Christopher, or Kit Coates; a name as well known at the Old Bailey as Jonathan Wild's. You recollect him--eh?"
Perfectly well, sir, replied the chief constable.
The greatest thief-taker, though I say it, continued Coates, "on record. I inherit all his zeal--all his ardor. Come along, sir. We shall have a fine moon in an hour--bright as day. To the post-house! to the post-house!"
Accordingly to the post-house they went; and, with as little delay as circumstances admitted, fresh hacks being procured, accompanied by a postilion, the party again pursued their onward course, encouraged to believe they were still in the right scent.
Night had now spread her mantle over the earth; still it was not wholly dark. A few stars were twinkling in the deep, cloudless heavens, and a pearly radiance in the eastern horizon heralded the rising of the orb of night. A gentle breeze was stirring; the dews of evening had already fallen; and the air felt bland and dry. It was just the night one would have chosen for a ride, if one ever rode by choice at such an hour; and to Turpin, whose chief excursions were conducted by night, it appeared little less than heavenly.
Full of ardor and excitement, determined to execute what he had mentally undertaken, Turpin held on his solitary course. Everything was favorable to his project; the roads were in admirable condition, his mare was in like order; she was inured to hard work, had rested sufficiently in town to recover from the fatigue of her recent journey, and had never been in more perfect training. "She has now got her wind in her," said Dick; "I'll see what she can do--hark away, lass--hark away! I wish they could see her now," added he, as he felt her almost fly away with him.
Encouraged by her master's voice and hand, Black Bess started forward at a pace which few horses could have equalled, and scarcely any have sustained so long. Even Dick, accustomed as he was to her magnificent action, felt electrified at the speed with which he was borne along. "Bravo! bravo!" shouted he, "hark away, Bess!"
The deep and solemn woods through which they were rushing rang with his shouts, and the sharp rattle of Bess's hoofs; and thus he held his way, while, in the words of the ballad,
Fled past, on right and left, how fast,
Each forest, grove, and bower;
On right and left, fled past, how fast,
Each city, town, and tower.
Dauphin. I will not change my horse with any that treads but on four pasterns. Ca, ha! He bounds from the earth as if his entrails were hairs; le cheval volant, the Pegasus qui a les narines de feu! When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk: he trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes.
---SHAKESPEARE: Henry V., Act III.
Black Bess being undoubtedly the heroine of the Fourth Book of this Romance, we may, perhaps, be pardoned for expatiating a little in this place upon her birth, parentage, breeding, appearance, and attractions. And first as to her pedigree; for in the horse, unlike the human species, nature has strongly impressed the noble or ignoble caste. He is the real aristocrat, and the pure blood that flows in the veins of the gallant steed will infallibly be transmitted, if his mate be suitable, throughout all his line. Bess was no cock-tail. She was thorough-bred; she boasted blood in every bright and branching vein:
If blood can give nobility,
A noble steed was she;
Her sire was blood, and blood her dam,
And all her pedigree.
As to her pedigree. Her sire was a desert Arab, renowned in his day, and brought to this country by a wealthy traveller; her dam was an English racer, coal-black as her child. Bess united all the fire and gentleness, the strength and hardihood, the abstinence and endurance of fatigue of the one, with the spirit and extraordinary fleetness of the other. How Turpin became possessed of her is of little consequence. We never heard that he paid a heavy price for her; though we doubt if any sum would have induced him to part with her. In color, she was perfectly black, with a skin smooth on the surface as polished jet; not a single white hair could be detected in her satin coat. In make she was magnificent. Every point was perfect, beautiful, compact; modelled, in little, for strength and speed. Arched was her neck, as that of the swan; clean and fine were her lower limbs, as those of the gazelle; round and sound as a drum was her carcase, and as broad as a cloth-yard shaft her width of chest. Hers were the "pulchrae clunes, breve caput, arduaque cervix," of the Roman bard. There was no redundancy of flesh, 'tis true; her flanks might, to please some tastes, have been rounder, and her shoulders fuller; but look at the nerve and sinew, palpable through the veined limbs! She was built more for strength than beauty, and yet she was beautiful. Look at that elegant little head; those thin, tapering ears, closely placed together; that broad, snorting nostril, which seems to snuff the gale with disdain; that eye, glowing and large as the diamond of Giamschid! Is she not beautiful? Behold her paces! how gracefully she moves! She is off!--no eagle on the wing could skim the air more swiftly. Is she not superb? As to her temper, the lamb is not more gentle. A child might guide her.
But hark back to Dick Turpin. We left him rattling along in superb style, and in the highest possible glee. He could not, in fact, be otherwise than exhilarated; nothing being so wildly intoxicating as a mad gallop. We seem to start out of ourselves--to be endued, for the time, with new energies. Our thoughts take wings rapid as our steed. We feel as if his fleetness and boundless impulses were for the moment our own. We laugh; we exult; we shout for very joy. We cry out with Mephistopheles, but in anything but a sardonic mood, "What I enjoy with spirit, is it the less my own on that account? If I can pay for six horses, are not their powers mine! I drive along, and am a proper man, as if I had four-and-twenty legs!" These were Turpin's sentiments precisely. Give him four legs and a wide plain, and he needed no Mephistopheles to bid him ride to perdition as fast as his nag could carry him. Away, away!--the road is level, the path is clear. Press on, thou gallant steed, no obstacle is in thy way!--and, lo! the moon breaks forth! Her silvery light is thrown over the woody landscape. Dark shadows are cast athwart the road, and the flying figures of thy rider and thyself are traced, like giant phantoms, in the dust!
Away, away! our breath is gone in keeping up with this tremendous run. Yet Dick Turpin has not lost his wind, for we hear his cheering cry--hark! he sings. The reader will bear in mind that Oliver means the moon--to "whiddle" is to blab.
OLIVER WHIDDLES!
Oliver whiddles--the tattler old!
Telling what best had been left untold.
Oliver ne'er was a friend of mine;
All glims I hate that so brightly shine.
Give me a night black as hell, and then
See what I'll show to you, my merry men.
Oliver whiddles!--who cares--who cares,
If down upon us he peers and stares?
Mind him who will, with his great white face,
Boldly I'll ride by his glim to the chase;
Give him a Rowland, and loudly as ever
Shout, as I show myself, "Stand and deliver!"
Egad, soliloquized Dick, as he concluded his song, looking up at the moon. "Old Noll's no bad fellow, either. I wouldn't be without his white face to-night for a trifle. He's as good as a lamp to guide one, and let Bess only hold on as she goes now, and I'll do it with ease. Softly, wench, softly--dost not see it's a hill we're rising. The devil's in the mare, she cares for nothing." And as they ascended the hill, Dick's voice once more awoke the echoes of night.
WILL DAVIES AND DICK TURPIN
Hodie mihi, cras tibi.--SAINT AUGUSTIN.
One night, when mounted on my mare,
To Bagshot Heath I did repair,
And saw Will Davies hanging there,
Upon the gibbet bleak and bare,
With a rustified, fustified, mustified air!
Within his chains bold Will looked blue,
Gone were his sword and snappers too,
Which served their master well and true;
Says I, "Will Davies, how are you?
With your rustified, fustified, mustified air!"
Says he, "Dick Turpin, here I be,
Upon the gibbet, as you see;
I take the matter easily;
You'll have your turn as well as me,
With your whistle-me, pistol-me, cut-my-throat air!"
Says I, "That's very true, my lad;
Meantime, with pistol and with prad,
I'm quite contented as I am,
And heed the gibbet not a d--n!
With its rustified, fustified, mustified air!"
Poor Will Davies! sighed Dick; "Bagshot ought never to forget him."
For never more shall Bagshot see
A highwayman of such degree,
Appearance, and gentility,
As Will, who hangs upon the tree,
With his rustified, fustified, mustified air!
Well, mused Turpin, "I suppose one day it will be with me like all the rest of 'em, and that I shall dance a long lavolta to the music of the four whistling winds, as my betters have done before me; but I trust, whenever the chanter-culls and last-speech scribblers get hold of me, they'll at least put no cursed nonsense into my mouth, but make me speak, as I have ever felt, like a man who never either feared death, or turned his back upon his friend. In the mean time I'll give them something to talk about. This ride of mine shall ring in their ears long after I'm done for--put to bed with a mattock, and tucked up with a spade.
And when I am gone, boys, each huntsman shall say,
None rode like Dick Turpin, so far in a day.
And thou, too, brave Bess!--thy name shall be linked with mine, and we'll go down to posterity together; and what," added he, despondingly, "if it should be too much for thee? what if----but no matter! Better die now, while I am with thee, than fall into the knacker's hands. Better die with all thy honors upon thy head, than drag out thy old age at the sand-cart. Hark forward, lass--hark forward!"
By what peculiar instinct is it that this noble animal, the horse, will at once perceive the slightest change in his rider's physical temperament, and allow himself so to be influenced by it, that, according as his master's spirits fluctuate, will his own energies rise and fall, wavering
From walk to trot, from canter to full speed?
How is it, we ask of those more intimately acquainted with the metaphysics of the Houyhnhnm than we pretend to be? Do the saddle or the rein convey, like metallic tractors, vibrations of the spirit betwixt the two? We know not, but this much is certain, that no servant partakes so much of the character of his master as the horse. The steed we are wont to ride becomes a portion of ourselves. He thinks and feels with us. As we are lively, he is sprightly; as we are depressed, his courage droops. In proof of this, let the reader see what horses some men make--make, we say, because in such hands their character is wholly altered. Partaking, in a measure, of the courage and the firmness of the hand that guides them, and of the resolution of the frame that sways them--what their rider wills, they do, or strive to do. When that governing power is relaxed, their energies are relaxed likewise; and their fine sensibilities supply them with an instant knowledge of the disposition and capacity of the rider. A gift of the gods is the gallant steed, which, like any other faculty we possess, to use or to abuse--to command or to neglect--rests with ourselves; he is the best general test of our own self-government.
Black Bess's action amply verified what we have just asserted; for during Turpin's momentary despondency, her pace was perceptibly diminished and her force retarded; but as he revived, she rallied instantly, and, seized apparently with a kindred enthusiasm, snorted joyously as she recovered her speed. Now was it that the child of the desert showed herself the undoubted offspring of the hardy loins from whence she sprung. Full fifty miles had she sped, yet she showed no symptoms of distress. If possible, she appeared fresher than when she started. She had breathed; her limbs were suppler; her action was freer, easier, lighter. Her sire, who, upon his trackless wilds, could have outstripped the pestilent simoom; and with throat unslaked, and hunger unappeased, could thrice have seen the scorching sun go down, had not greater powers of endurance. His vigor was her heritage. Her dam, who upon the velvet sod was of almost unapproachable swiftness, and who had often brought her owner golden assurances of her worth, could scarce have kept pace with her, and would have sunk under a third of her fatigue. But Bess was a paragon. We ne'er shall look upon her like again, unless we can prevail upon some Bedouin chief to present us with a brood mare, and then the racing world shall see what a breed we will introduce into this country. Eclipse, Childers, or Hambletonian, shall be nothing to our colts, and even the railroad slow travelling, compared with the speed of our new nags!
But to return to Bess, or rather to go along with her, for there is no halting now; we are going at the rate of twenty knots an hour--sailing before the wind; and the reader must either keep pace with us, or drop astern. Bess is now in her speed, and Dick happy. Happy! he is enraptured--maddened--furious--intoxicated as with wine. Pshaw! wine could never throw him into such a burning delirium. Its choicest juices have no inspiration like this. Its fumes are slow and heady. This is ethereal, transporting. His blood spins through his veins; winds round his heart; mounts to his brain. Away! away! He is wild with joy. Hall, cot, tree, tower, glade, mead, waste, or woodland, are seen, passed, left behind, and vanish as in a dream. Motion is scarcely perceptible--it is impetus! volition! The horse and her rider are driven forward, as it were, by self-accelerated speed. A hamlet is visible in the moonlight. It is scarcely discovered ere the flints sparkle beneath the mare's hoofs. A moment's clatter upon the stones, and it is left behind. Again it is the silent, smiling country. Now they are buried in the darkness of woods; now sweeping along on the wide plain; now clearing the unopened toll-bar; now trampling over the hollow-sounding bridge, their shadows momently reflected in the placid mirror of the stream; now scaling the hill-side a thought more slowly; now plunging, as the horses of Phbus into the ocean, down its precipitous sides.
The limits of two shires are already past. They are within the confines of a third. They have entered the merry county of Huntingdon; they have surmounted the gentle hill that slips into Godmanchester. They are by the banks of the rapid Ouse. The bridge is past; and as Turpin rode through the deserted streets of Huntingdon, he heard the eleventh hour given from the iron tongue of St. Mary's spire. In four hours--it was about seven when he started--Dick had accomplished full sixty miles!
A few reeling topers in the streets saw the horseman flit past, and one or two windows were thrown open; but Peeping Tom of Coventry would have had small chance of beholding the unveiled beauties of Queen Godiva had she ridden at the rate of Dick Turpin. He was gone, like a meteor, almost as soon as he appeared.
Huntingdon is left behind, and he is once more surrounded by dew-gemmed hedges and silent slumbering trees. Broad meadows, or pasture land, with drowsy cattle, or low bleating sheep, lie on either side. But what to Turpin, at that moment, is nature, animate or inanimate? He thinks only of his mare--his future fame. None are by to see him ride; no stimulating plaudits ring in his ears; no thousand hands are clapping; no thousand voices huzzaing; no handkerchiefs are waved; no necks strained; no bright eyes rain influence upon him; no eagle orbs watch his motions; no bells are rung; no cup awaits his achievement; no sweepstakes--no plate. But his will be renown--everlasting renown; his will be fame which will not die with him--which will keep his reputation, albeit a tarnished one, still in the mouths of men. He wants all these adventitious excitements, but he has that within which is a greater excitement than all these. He is conscious that he is doing a deed to live by. If not riding for life, he is riding for immortality; and as the hero may perchance feel--for even a highwayman may feel like a hero,--when he willingly throws away his existence in the hope of earning a glorious name, Turpin cared not what might befall himself, so he could proudly signalize himself as the first of his land,
And witch the world with noble horsemanship!
What need had he of spectators? The eye of posterity was upon him; he felt the influence of that Argus glance which has made many a poor wight spur on his Pegasus with not half so good a chance of reaching the goal as Dick Turpin. Multitudes, yet unborn, he knew would hear and laud his deeds. He trembled with excitement, and Bess trembled under him. But the emotion was transient. On, on they fly! The torrent leaping from the crag--the bolt from the bow--the air-cleaving eagle--thoughts themselves are scarce more winged in their flight!