The History and Remarkable Life of the Truly Honourable Colonel Jacque, Commonly called Colonel Jack

"Look ye, Jacque," said I, "talk no more of doing business, for I will not join with you in anything of that kind. I would fain get you to Scotland before you get a halter about your neck. I will not have you hanged in England, if I can help it; and therefore I won't go to Newmarket, unless you will promise me to take no false steps there." "Well," says he, "if I must not, then I won't; but I hope you will let us get another horse, won't you, that we may travel faster?" "No," says I, "I won't agree to that; but if you will let me send this horse back fairly, I will tell you how we shall hire horses afterwards, for one stage, or two, and then take them as far as we please: it is only sending a letter to the owner to send for him, and then, if we are stopped, it can do us but little hurt."

"You are a wary, politic gentleman," says the captain, "but I say we are better as we are; for we are out of all danger of being stopped on the way after we are gone from this place."

We had not parleyed thus long, but, though in the dead of the night, came a man to the other inn door-for, as I said above, there are two inns at that place-and called for a pot of beer; but the people were all in bed, and would not rise. He asked them if they had seen two fellows come that way upon one horse. The man said he had, that they went by in the afternoon, and asked the way to Cambridge, but did not stop only to drink one mug. "Oh!" says he, "are they gone to Cambridge? Then I'll be with them quickly." I was awake in a little garret of the next inn, where we lodged, and hearing the fellow call at the door, got up and went to the window, having some uneasiness at every noise I heard; and by that means heard the whole story. Now, the case is plain, our hour was not come, our fate had determined other things for us, and we were to be reserved for it. The matter was thus. When we first came to Bournbridge, we called at the first house, and asked the way to Cambridge, drank a mug of beer and went on, and they might see to turn off to go the way they directed. But night coming on, and we being very weary, we thought we should not find the way; and we came back in the dusk of the evening, and went into the other house, being the first as we came back, as that where we called before was the first as we went forward.

You may be sure I was alarmed now, as indeed I had reason to be. The captain was in bed and fast asleep, but I wakened him, and roused him with a noise that frighted him enough. "Rise, Jacque," said I; "we are both ruined; they are come after us hither." Indeed, I was wrong to terrify him at that rate; for he started, and jumped out of bed, and ran directly to the window, not knowing where he was, and, not quite awake, was just going to jump out of the window, but I laid hold of him. "What are you going to do?" says I. "I won't be taken," says he. "Let me alone. Where are they?"

This was all confusion; and he was so out of himself with the fright, and being overcome with sleep, that I had much to do to prevent his jumping out of the window. However, I held him fast, and thoroughly wakened him, and then all was well again, and he was presently composed.

Then I told him the story, and we sat together upon the bedside, considering what we should do. Upon the whole, as the fellow that called was apparently gone to Cambridge, we had nothing to fear, but to be quiet till daybreak, and then to mount and be gone.

Accordingly, as soon as day peeped we were up; and having happily informed ourselves of the road at the other house, and being told that the road to Cambridge turned off on the left hand, and that the road to Newmarket lay straight forward-I say, having learnt this, the captain told me he would walk away on foot towards Newmarket; and so, when I came to go out, I should appear as a single traveller. And accordingly he went out immediately, and away he walked; and he travelled so hard that when I came to follow, I thought once that he had dropped me; for though I rode hard, I got no sight of him for an hour. At length, having passed the great bank called the Devil's Ditch, I found him, and took him up behind me, and we rode double till we came almost to the end of Newmarket town. Just at the hither house in the town stood a horse at a door, just as it was at Puckeridge. "Now," says Jack, "if the horse was at the other end of the town I would have him, as sure as we had the other at Puckeridge;" but it would not do; so he got down and walked through the town on the right-hand side of the way.

He had not got half through the town but the horse, having somehow or other got loose, came trotting gently on by himself, and nobody following him. The captain, an old soldier at such work, as soon as the horse was got a pretty way before him, and that he saw nobody followed, sets up a run after the horse, and the horse, hearing him follow, ran the faster. Then the captain calls out, "Stop the horse!" and by this time the horse was got almost to the farther end of the town, the people of the house where he stood not missing him all the while.

Upon his calling out, "Stop the horse!" the poor people of the town, such as were next at hand, ran from both sides the way and stopped the horse for him, as readily as could be, and held him for him till he came up. He very gravely comes up to the horse, hits him a blow or two, and calls him dog for running away, gives the man twopence that catched him for him, mounts, and away he comes after me.

This was the oddest adventure that could have happened, for the horse stole the captain, the captain did not steal the horse. When he came up to me, "Now, Colonel Jacque," says he, "what say you to good luck? Would you have had me refuse the horse, when he came so civilly to ask me to ride?" "No, no," said I; "you have got this horse by your wit, not by design; and you may go on now, I think. You are in a safer condition than I am, if we are taken."

The next question was what road we should take. Here were four ways before us, and we were alike strangers to them all. First, on the right hand, and at about a little mile from the town, a great road went off to St. Edmund's Bury; straight on, but in clining afterwards to the right, lay the great road to Barton Mills and Thetford, and so to Norwich; and full before us lay a great road, also, to Brandon and Lynn; and on the left lay a less road to the city of Ely, and into the fens.

In short, as we knew not which road to take, nor which way to get into the great north road, which we had left, so we, by mere unguided chance, took the way to Brandon, and so to Lynn. At Brand, or Brandon, we were told that, passing over at a place called Downham Bridge, we might cross the fen country to Wisbeach, and from thence go along that bank of the river Nene to Peterborough, and from thence to Stamford, where we were in the northern road again; and likewise, that at Lynn we might go by the Washes into Lincolnshire, and so might travel north. But, upon the whole, this was my rule, that, when we inquired the way to any particular place, to be sure we never took that road, but some other which the accidental discourse we might have should bring in. And thus we did here; for, having chiefly asked our way into the northern road, we resolved to go directly for Lynn.

We arrived here very easy and safe, and while we was considering of what way we should travel next we found we were got to a point, and that there was no way now left but that by the Washes into Lincolnshire, and that was represented as very dangerous; so an opportunity offering of a man that was travelling over the fens, we took him for our guide, and went with him to Spalding, and from thence to a town called Deeping, and so to Stamford in Lincolnshire.

This is a large, populous town, and it was market-day when we came to it; so we put in at a little house at the hither end of the town, and walked into the town.

Here it was not possible to restrain my captain from playing his feats of art, and my heart ached for him. I told him I would not go with him, for he would not promise, and I was so terribly concerned at the apprehensions of his venturous humour that I would not so much as stir out of my lodging; but it was in vain to persuade him. He went into the market, and found a mountebank there, which was what he wanted. How he picked two pockets there in one quarter of an hour, and brought to our quarters a piece of new holland of eight or nine ells, a piece of stuff, and played three or four pranks more in less than two hours; and how afterward he robbed a doctor of physic, and yet came off clear in them all-this, I say, as above, belongs to his story, not mine.

I scolded heartily at him when he came back, and told him he would certainly ruin himself, and me too, before he left off, and threatened in so many words that I would leave him, and go back and carry the horse to Puckeridge where we borrowed it, and so go to London by myself.

He promised amendment; but as we resolved (now we were in the great road) to travel by night, so it being not yet night, he gives me the slip again, and was not gone half-an-hour but he comes back with a gold watch in his hand: "Come," says he, "why ain't you ready to go? I am ready to go as soon as you will;" and with that he pulls out the gold watch. I was amazed at such a thing as that in a country town; but it seems there was prayers at one of the churches in the evening, and he, placing himself as the occasion directed, found the way to be so near the lady as to get it from her side, and walked off with it unperceived.

The same night we went away by moonlight, after having the satisfaction to hear the watch cried, and ten guineas offered for it again. He would have been glad of the ten guineas instead of the watch, but durst not venture carry it home. "Well," says I, "you are afraid, and you have reason. Give it me; I will venture to carry it again." But he would not let me, but told me that when he came into Scotland we might sell anything there without danger; which was true indeed, for there they asked us no questions.

We set out, as I said, in the evening by moon light, and travelled hard, the road being very plain and large, till we came to Grantham, by which time it was about two in the morning, and all the town, as it were, dead asleep. So we went on for Newark, where we reached about eight in the morning, and there we lay down and slept most of the day; and by this sleeping so continually in the day-time I kept him from doing a great deal of mischief, which he would otherwise have done.

From Newark we took advice of one that was accidentally comparing the roads, and we concluded that the road by Nottingham would be the best for us; so we turned out of the great road, and went up the side of the Trent to Nottingham. Here he played his pranks again in a manner that it was the greatest wonder imaginable to me that he was not surprised, and yet he came off clear. And now he had got so many bulky goods that he bought him a portmanteau to carry them in. It was in vain for me to offer to restrain him any more; so after this he went on his own way.

At Nottingham, I say, he had such success that made us the hastier to be going than otherwise we would have been, lest we would have been baulked, and should be laid hold of. From thence we left the road, which leads to the north again, and went away by Mansfield into Scarsdale, in Yorkshire.

I shall take up no more of my own story with his pranks; they very well merit to be told by themselves. But I shall observe only what relates to our journey. In a word, I dragged him along as fast as I could, till I came to Leeds, in Yorkshire. Here, though it be a large and populous town, yet he could make nothing of it; neither had he any success at Wakefield; and he told me, in short, that the north-country people were certainly all thieves. "Why so?" said I. "The people seem to be just as other people are." "No, no," says he; "they have their eyes so about them, and are all so sharp, they look upon everybody that comes near them to be a pickpocket, or else they would never stand so upon their guard. And then again," says he, "they are so poor, there is but little to be got; and I am afraid," says he, "the farther we go north, we shall find it worse." "Well," says I, "what do you infer from thence?" "I argue from thence," says he, "that we shall do nothing there, and I had as good go back into the south and be hanged as into the north to be starved."

Well, we came at length to Newcastle-upon-Tyne. Here, on a market-day, was a great throng of people, and several of the townspeople going to market to buy provisions; and here he played his pranks, cheated a shopkeeper of £15 or £16 in goods, and got clear away with them; stole a horse, and sold that he came upon, and played so many pranks that I was quite frighted for him. I say for him, for I was not concerned for myself, having never stirred out of the house where I lodged-at least not with him, nor without some or other with me belonging to the inn that might give an account of me.

Nor did I use this caution in vain; for he had made himself so public by his rogueries that he was waylaid everywhere to be taken, and had he not artfully at first given out that he was come from Scotland and was going toward London, inquiring that road, and the like, which amused his pursuers for the first day, he had been taken, and in all probability had been hanged there. But by that artifice he got half a day's time of them; and yet, as it was, he was put so to it that he was fain to plunge, horse and all, into the river Tweed, and swim over, and thereby made his escape. It was true that he was before upon Scots ground (as they call it), and consequently they had no power to have carried him off, if anybody had opposed them; yet, as they were in a full chase after him, could they have come up with him they would have run the risk of the rest, and they could but have delivered him up if they had been questioned about it. However, as he got over the Tweed, and was landed safe, they could neither follow him, the water being too high at the usual place of going over, nor could they have attempted to have brought him away if they had taken him. The place where he took the river was where there is a ford below Kelso, but the water being up, the ford was not passable, and he had no time to go to the ferry-boat, which is about a furlong off, opposite to the town.

Having thus made his escape, he went to Kelso, where he had appointed me to come after him. I followed with a heavy heart, expecting every hour to meet him upon the road in the custody of the constables and such people, or to hear of him in the gaol; but when I came to a place on the border called Woller-haugh-head, there I understood how he had been chased, and how he made his escape.

When I came to Kelso he was easy enough to be found; for his having desperately swam the Tweed, a rapid and large river, made him much talked of, though it seems they had not heard of the occasion of it, nor anything of his character; for he had wit enough to conceal all that, and live as retired as he could till I came to him.

I was not so much rejoiced at his safety as I was provoked at his conduct; and the more, for that I could not find he had yet the least notion of his having been void of common-sense with respect to his circumstances, as well as contrary to what he promised me. However, as there was no beating anything into his head by words, I only told him that I was glad he was at last gotten into a place of safety, and I asked him then how he intended to manage himself in that country. He said in few words he did not know yet. He doubted the people were very poor; but if they had any money he was resolved to have some of it.

"But do you know, too," says I, "that they are the severest people upon criminals of your kind in the world?" He did not value that, he said, in his blunt, short way; he would venture it. Upon this I told him that, seeing it was so, and he would run such ventures, I would take my leave of him and be gone back to England. He seemed sullen, or rather it was the roughness of his untractable disposition. He said I might do what I would, he would do as he found opportunity. However, we did not part immediately, but went on towards the capital city. On the road we found too much poverty and too few people to give him room to expect any advantage in his way; and though he had his eyes about him as sharp as a hawk, yet he saw plainly there was nothing to be done; for as to the men, they did not seem to have much money about them; and for the women, their dress was such that, had they any money, or indeed any pockets, it was impossible to come at them; for, wearing large plaids about them and down to their knees, they were wrapped up so close that there was no coming to make the least attempt of that kind.

Kelso was indeed a good town, and had abundance of people in it; and yet, though he stayed one Sunday there, and saw the church, which is very large and thronged with people, yet, as he told me, there was not one woman to be seen in all the church with any other dress than a plaid, except in two pews, which belonged to some nobleman, and who, when they came out, were so surrounded with footmen and servants that there was no coming near them, any more than there was any coming near the king surrounded by his guards.

We set out, therefore, with this discouragement, which I was secretly glad of, and went forward to Edinburgh. All the way thither we went through no considerable town, and it was but very coarse travelling for us, who were strangers; for we met with waters which were very dangerous to pass, by reason of hasty rains, at a place called Lauderdale, and where my captain was really in danger of drowning, his horse being driven down by the stream, and fell under him, by which he wetted and spoiled his stolen goods that he brought from Newcastle, and which he had kept dry strangely, by holding them up in his arms when he swam the Tweed. But here it wanted but little that he and his horse had been lost, not so much by the depth of the water as the fury of the current. But he had a proverb in his favour, and he got out of the water, though with difficulty enough, not being born to be drowned, as I shall observe afterwards in its place.

We came to Edinburgh the third day from Kelso, having stopped at an inn one whole day, at a place called Soutrahill, to dry our goods and refresh ourselves. We were oddly saluted at Edinburgh. The next day after we came thither, my captain having a desire to walk and look about him, asked me if I would go and see the town. I told him yes; so we went out, and coming through a gate that they call the Nether Bow, into the great High Street, which went up to the Cross, we were surprised to see it thronged with an infinite number of people. "Ay," says my captain, "this will do." However, as I had made him promise to make no adventures that day, otherwise I told him I would not go out with him, so I held him by the sleeve, and would not let him stir from me.

Then we came up to the Market Cross, and there besides the great number of people who passed and repassed, we saw a great parade or kind of meeting, like an exchange of gentlemen, of all ranks and qualities, and this encouraged my captain again, and he pleased himself with that sight.

It was while we were looking, and wondering at what we saw here, that we were surprised with a sight which we little expected. We observed the people running on a sudden, as to see some strange thing just coming along; and strange it was indeed: for we see two men naked from the waist upwards run by us as swift as the wind, and we imagined nothing but that it was two men running a race for some mighty wager. On a sudden we found two long, small ropes or lines, which hung down at first, pulled straight, and the two racers stopped, and stood still, one close by the other. We could not imagine what this meant, but the reader may judge at our surprise when we found a man follow after, who had the ends of both those lines in his hands, and who, when he came up to them, gave each of them two frightful lashes with a wire whip or lash, which he held in the other hand. And then the two poor naked wretches run on again to the length of their line or tether, where they waited for the like salutation; and in this manner they danced the length of the whole street, which is about half-a-mile.

This was a dark prospect to my captain, and put him in mind, not only of what he was to expect if he made a slip in the way of his profession in this place, but also of what he had suffered when he was but a boy, at the famous place called Bridewell.

But this was not all; for, as we saw the execution, so we were curious to examine into the crime too; and we asked a young fellow who stood near us what the two men had done for which they suffered that punishment. The fellow, an unhappy, ill-natured Scotchman, perceived by our speech that we were Englishmen, and by our question that we were strangers, told us, with a malicious wit, that they were two Englishmen, and that they were whipped so for picking pockets, and other petty thieveries, and that they were afterwards to be sent away over the border into England.

Now this was every word of it false, and was only formed by his nimble invention to insult us as Englishmen; for when we inquired further, they were both Scotchmen, and were thus scourged for the usual offences for which we give the like punishment in England. And the man who held the line and scourged them was the city hangman, who (by the way) is there an officer of note, has a constant salary, and is a man of substance; and not only so, but a most dexterous fellow in his office, and makes a great deal of money of his employment.

This sight, however, was very shocking to us; and my captain turned to me: "Come," says he, "let us go away; I won't stay here any longer." I was glad to hear him say so, but did not think he had meant or intended what he said. However, we went back to our quarters, and kept pretty much within, only that in the evenings we walked about. But even then my captain found no employment, no encouragement. Two or three times, indeed, he made a prize of some mercery and millinery goods; but when he had them he knew not what to do with them, so that, in short, he was forced to be honest in spite of his goodwill to be otherwise.

We remained here about a month, when, on a sudden, my captain was gone, horse and all, and I knew nothing what was become of him. Nor did I ever see or hear of him for eighteen months after, nor did he so much as leave the least notice for me, either whither he was gone or whether he would return to Edinburgh again or no.

I took his leaving me very heinously, not knowing what to do with myself, being a stranger in the place; and, on the other hand, my money abated apace too. I had for the most part of this time my horse upon my hands to keep; and as horses yield but a sorry price in Scotland, I found no opportunity to make much of him; and, on the other hand, I had a secret resolution, if I had gone back to England, to have restored him to the owner, at Puckeridge, by Ware. And so I should have wronged him of nothing but the use of him for so long a time; but I found an occasion to answer all my designs about the horse to advantage.

There came a man to the stabler-so they call the people at Edinburgh that take in horses to keep-and wanted to know if he could hear of any returned horses for England. My landlord, so we called him, came bluntly to me one day, and asked me if my horse was my own. It was an odd question, as my circumstances stood, and puzzled me at first; and I asked why, and what was the matter. "Because," says he, "if it be a hired horse in England, as is often the case with Englishmen who come to Scotland, I could help you to send it back, and get you something for riding." So he expressed himself.

I was very glad of the occasion, and, in short, took security there of the person for delivering the horse safe and sound, and had 15s. sterling for the riding him. Upon this agreement, I gave order to leave the horse at the Falcon, at Puckeridge, and where I heard, many years after, that he was honestly left, and that the owner had him again, but had nothing for the loan of him.

Being thus eased of the expense of my horse, and having nothing at all to do, I began to consider with myself what would become of me, and what I could turn my hand to. I had not much diminished my stock of money, for though I was all the way so wary that I would not join with my captain in his desperate attempts, yet I made no scruple to live at his expense, which, as I came out of England only to keep him company, had been but just, had I not known that all he had to spend upon me was what he robbed honest people of, and that I was all that while a receiver of stolen goods. But I was not come off so far then as to scruple that part at all.