Small. “Eh! what? there are none in the house, I hope.”
“I hope not,” answered Coates. “But this gentleman has taken up the defence of the notorious Dick Turpin in so singular a manner, that ——”
“Quod factu fœdum est, idem est et Dictu Turpe,” returned Small. “The less said about that rascal the better.”
“So I think,” replied Jack. “The fact is as you say, sir — were Dick here, he would, I am sure, take the freedom to hide ’em.”
Further discourse was cut short by the sudden opening of the door, followed by the abrupt entrance of a tall, slender young man, who hastily advanced towards the table, around which the company were seated. His appearance excited the utmost astonishment in the whole group: curiosity was exhibited in every countenance — the magnum remained poised midway in the hand of Palmer — Dr. Small scorched his thumb in the bowl of his pipe; and Mr. Coates was almost choked, by swallowing an inordinate whiff of vapor.
“Young Sir Ranulph!” ejaculated he, as soon as the syncope would permit him.
“Sir Ranulph here?” echoed Palmer, rising.
“Angels and ministers!” exclaimed Small.
“Odsbodikins!” cried Titus, with a theatrical start; “this is more than I expected.”
“Gentlemen,” said Ranulph, “do not let my unexpected arrival here discompose you. Dr. Small, you will excuse the manner of my greeting; and you, Mr. Coates. One of the present party, I believe, was my father’s medical attendant, Dr. Tyrconnel.”
“I had that honor,” replied the Irishman, bowing profoundly —“I am Dr. Tyrconnel, Sir Ranulph, at your service.”
“When, and at what hour, did my father breathe his last, sir?” inquired Ranulph.
“Poor Sir Piers,” answered Titus, again bowing, “departed this life on Thursday last.”
“The hour? — the precise minute?” asked Ranulph, eagerly.
“Troth, Sir Ranulph, as nearly as I can recollect, it might be a few minutes before midnight.”
“The very hour!” exclaimed Ranulph, striding towards the window. His steps were arrested as his eye fell upon the attire of his father, which, as we have before noticed, hung at that end of the room. A slight shudder passed over his frame. There was a momentary pause, during which Ranulph continued gazing intently at the apparel. “The very dress, too!” muttered he; then turning to the assembly, who were watching his movements with surprise; “Doctor,” said he, addressing Small, “I have something for your private ear. Gentlemen, will you spare us the room for a few minutes?”
“On my conscience,” said Tyrconnel to Jack Palmer, as they quitted the sanctum, “a mighty fine boy is this young Sir Ranulph! — and a chip of the ould block! — he’ll be as good a fellow as his father.”
“No doubt,” replied Palmer, shutting the door. “But what the devil brought him back, just in the nick of it?”
* * * * *
7. James Hind — the “Prince of Prigs”— a royalist captain of some distinction, was hanged, drawn, and quartered, in 1652. Some good stories are told of him. He had the credit of robbing Cromwell, Bradshaw, and Peters. His discourse to Peters is particularly edifying.
8. See Du-Val’s life by Doctor Pope, or Leigh Hunt’s brilliant sketch of him in The Indicator.
9. We cannot say much in favor of this worthy, whose name was Thomas Simpson. The reason of his sobriquet does not appear. He was not particularly scrupulous as to his mode of appropriation. One of his sayings is, however, on record. He told a widow whom he robbed, “that the end of a woman’s husband begins in tears, but the end of her tears is another husband.” “Upon which,” says his chronicler, “the gentlewoman gave him about fifty guineas.”
10. Tom was a sprightly fellow, and carried his sprightliness to the gallows; for just before he was turned off he kicked Mr. Smith, the ordinary, and the hangman out of the cart — a piece of pleasantry which created, as may be supposed, no small sensation.
11. Many agreeable stories are related of Holloway. His career, however, closed with a murder. He contrived to break out of Newgate but returned to witness the trial of one of his associates; when, upon the attempt of a turnkey, one Richard Spurling, to seize him, Will knocked him on the head in the presence of the whole court. For this offence he suffered the extreme penalty of the law in 1712.
12. Wicks’s adventures with Madame Toly are highly diverting. It was this hero — not Turpin, as has been erroneously stated — who stopped the celebrated Lord Mohun. Of Gettings and Grey, and “the five or six,” the less said the better.
13. One of Jack’s recorded mots. When a Bible was pressed upon his acceptance by Mr. Wagstaff, the chaplain, Jack refused it, saying, “that in his situation one file would be worth all the Bibles in the world.” A gentleman who visited Newgate asked him to dinner; Sheppard replied, “that he would take an early opportunity of waiting upon him.” And we believe he kept his word.
14. The word Tory, as here applied, must not be confounded with the term of party distinction now in general use in the political world. It simply means a thief on a grand scale, something more than “a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles,” or petty-larceny rascal. We have classical authority for this:—Tory: “An advocate for absolute monarchy; also, an Irish vagabond, robber, or rapparee.”—Grose’s Dictionary.
15. A trio of famous High-Tobygloaks. Swiftneck was a captain of Irish dragoons, by-the-bye.
16. Redmond O’Hanlon was the Rob Roy of Ireland, and his adventures, many of which are exceedingly curious, would furnish as rich materials for the novelist, as they have already done for the ballad-mongers: some of them are, however, sufficiently well narrated in a pleasant little tome, published at Belfast, entitled The History of the Rapparees. We are also in possession of a funeral discourse, preached at the obsequies of the “noble and renowned” Henry St. John, Esq., who was unfortunately killed by the Tories— the Destructives of those days — in the induction to which we find some allusion to Redmond. After describing the thriving condition of the north of Ireland, about 1680, the Rev. Lawrence Power, the author of the sermon, says, “One mischief there was, which indeed in a great measure destroyed all, and that was a pack of insolent bloody outlaws, whom they here call Tories. These had so riveted themselves in these parts, that by the interest they had among the natives, and some English, too, to their shame be it spoken, they exercise a kind of separate sovereignty in three or four counties in the north of Ireland. Redmond O’Hanlon is their chief, and has been these many years; a cunning, dangerous fellow, who, though proclaimed an outlaw with the rest of his crew, and sums of money set upon their heads, yet he reigns still, and keeps all in subjection, so far that ’tis credibly reported he raises more in a year by contributions à-la-mode de France than the king’s land taxes and chimney-money come to, and thereby is enabled to bribe clerks and officers, If Not Their Masters, (!) and makes all too much truckle to him.” Agitation, it seems, was not