“And who was he, may I ask?” said Coates.
“Claude Du-Val,” replied Jack; “and though a Frenchman, he was a deuced fine fellow in his way—quite a tip-top macaroni—he could skip and twirl like a figurant, warble like an opera singer, and play the flageolet better than any man of his day—he always carried a flute in his pocket, along with his snappers. And then his dress—it was quite beautiful to see how smartly he was rigg’d out, all velvet and lace; and even with his vizard on his face, the ladies used to cry out to see him. Then he took a purse with the air and grace of a receiver-general. All the women adored him—and that, bless their pretty faces, was the best proof of his gentility. I wish he’d not been a Mounseer. The women never mistake. They can always discover the true gentleman, and they were all of every degree, from the countess to the kitchen-maid, over head and ears in love with him.”
“But he was taken, I suppose?” asked Coates.
“Ay,” responded Jack, “the women were his undoing as they’ve been many a brave fellow’s before, and will be again.” Touched by which reflection, Jack became for once in his life sentimental, and sighed. “Poor Du-Val! he was seized at the Hole-in-the-Wall in Chandos Street by the bailiff of Westminster when dead drunk, his liquor having been drugged by his dells—and was shortly afterwards hanged at Tyburn.”
“It was a thousand pities,” said Mr. Coates, with a sneer, “that so fine a gentleman should come to so ignominious an end!”
“Quite the contrary,” returned Jack. “As his biographer, Doctor Pope, properly remarks, ‘Who is there worthy of the name of man, that would not prefer such a death before a mean, solitary, inglorious life?’ By-the-by, Titus, as we’re upon the subject, if you like I’ll sing you a song about highwaymen?”
“I should like it of all things,” replied Titus, who entertained a very favourable opinion of Jack’s vocal powers, and was by no means an indifferent performer; “only let it be in a minor key.”
Jack required no further encouragement, but, disregarding the hints and looks of Coates, sang with much unction the following ballad to a good old tune, then very popular—the merit of which “nobody can deny.”
A CHAPTER OF HIGHWAYMEN
Of every rascal of every kind,
The most notorious to my mind,
Was the Cavalier Captain, gay JEMMY HIND!1
Which nobody can deny.
But the pleasantest coxcomb among them all
For lute, coranto, and madrigal,
Was the galliard Frenchman, CLAUDE DU-VAL!2
Which nobody can deny.
And Tobygloak never a coach could rob,
Could lighten a pocket, or empty a fob,
With a neater hand than old mob, OLD MOB!3
Which nobody can deny.
Nor did housebreaker ever harder deal knocks
On the stubborn lid of a good strong box,
Than that prince of good fellows, TOM COX, TOM COX!4
Which nobody can deny.
A blither fellow on broad highway,
Did never with oath bid traveller stay,
Than devil-may-care WILL HALLOWAY!5
Which nobody can deny.
And in roguery nought could exceed the tricks
Of GETTINGS and GREY, and the five or six,
Who trod in the steps of bold NEDDY WICKS!6
Which nobody can deny.
Nor could any so handily break a lock
As SHEPPARD, who stood on the Newgate dock,
And nicknamed the gaolers around him “his flock”!7
Which nobody can deny.
Nor did highwayman ever before possess,
For ease, for security, danger, distress,
Such a mare as DICK TURPIN’S Black Bess! Black Bess!
Which nobody can deny.
“A capital song by the powers!” cried Titus, as Jack’s ditty came to a close. “But your English robbers are nothing at all, compared with our Tories8 and Rapparees—nothing at all. They were the raal gentlemen—they were the boys to cut a throat asily.”
“Pshaw!” exclaimed Jack, in disgust, “the gentlemen I speak of never maltreated anyone, except in self-defence.”
“Maybe not,” replied Titus; “I’ll not dispute the point—but these Rapparees were true brothers of the blade, and gentlemen every inch. I’ll just sing you a song I made about them myself. But meanwhile don’t let’s forget the bottle—talking’s dry work—my service to you, doctor!” added he, winking at the somnolent Small. And, tossing off his glass, Titus delivered himself with much joviality of a ballad.
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