Rookwood. Ainsworth William Harrison

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!7

      Which nobody can deny.

      But the pleasantest coxcomb among them all

      For lute, coranto, and madrigal,

      Was the galliard Frenchman, Claude Du-Val!8

      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!9

      Which nobody can deny.

      Nor did housebreaker ever deal harder knocks

      On the stubborn lid of a good strong box,

      Than that prince of good fellows, Tom Cox, Tom Cox!10

      Which nobody can deny.

      A blither fellow on broad highway,

      Did never with oath bid traveller stay,

      Than devil-may-care Will Holloway!11

      Which nobody can deny.

      And in roguery naught could exceed the tricks

      Of Gettings and Grey, and the five or six

      Who trod in the steps of bold Neddy Wicks!12

      Which nobody can deny.

      Nor could any so handily break a lock

      As Sheppard, who stood on the Newgate dock,

      And nicknamed the jailers around him "his flock!"13

      Which nobody can deny.

      Nor did highwaymen 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 Tories14 and Rapparees—nothing at all. They were the raal gentlemen—they were the boys to cut a throat aisily."

      "Pshaw!" exclaimed Jack, in disgust, "the gentlemen I speak of never maltreated any one, 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 the following ballad; the words of which he adapted to the tune of the Groves of the Pool:

THE RAPPAREES

      Let the Englishman boast of his Turpins and Sheppards, as cocks of the walk,

      His Mulsacks, and Cheneys, and Swiftnecks15—it's all botheration and talk;

      Compared with the robbers of Ireland, they don't come within half a mile,

      There never were yet any rascals like those of my own native isle!

      First and foremost comes Redmond O'Hanlon, allowed the first thief of the world,16

      That o'er the broad province of Ulster the Rapparee banner unfurled;

      Och! he was an elegant fellow, as ever you saw in your life,

      At fingering the blunderbuss trigger, or handling the throat-cutting knife.

      And then such a dare-devil squadron as that which composed Redmond's tail!

      Meel, Mactigh, Jack Reilly, Shan Bernagh, Phil Galloge, and Arthur O'Neal;

      Shure never were any boys like 'em for rows, agitations, and sprees,

      Not a rap did they leave in the country, and hence they were called Rapparees.17

      Next comes Power, the great Tory18 of Munster, a gentleman born every inch,

      And strong Jack Macpherson of Leinster, a horse-shoe who broke at a pinch;

      The last was a fellow so lively, not death e'en his courage could damp,

      For as he was led to the gallows, he played his own "march to the camp."19

      Paddy Fleming, Dick Balf, and Mulhoni, I think are the next on my list,

      All adepts in the beautiful science of giving a pocket a twist;

      Jemmy Carrick must follow his leaders, ould Purney who put in a huff,

      By dancing a hornpipe at Tyburn, and bothering the hangman for snuff.

      There's Paul Liddy, the curly-pate Tory, whose noddle was stuck on a spike,

      And Billy Delaney, the "Songster,"20 we never shall meet with his like;

      For his neck by a witch was anointed, and warranted safe by her charm,

      No hemp that was ever yet twisted his wonderful throttle could harm.

      And lastly, there's Cahir na Cappul, the handiest rogue of them all,

      Who only need whisper a word, and your horse will trot out of his stall;

      Your tit is not safe in your stable, though you or your groom should be near,

      And devil a bit in the paddock, if Cahir gets hould of his ear.

      Then success to the Tories of Ireland, the generous, the gallant, the gay!

      With them the best Rumpads21 of England are not to be named the same day!

      And were further proof wanting to show what precedence we take with our prigs,

      Recollect that our robbers are Tories, while those of your country are Whigs.

      "Bravissimo!" cried Jack, drumming upon the table.

      "Well," said Coates, "we've had enough about the Irish highwaymen, in all conscience. But there's a rascal on our side of the Channel, whom you have only incidentally mentioned, and who makes more noise than them all put together."

      "Who's that?" asked Jack, with some curiosity.

      "Dick Turpin," replied the attorney: "he seems to me quite as worthy of mention as any of the Hinds, the Du-Vals, or the O'Hanlons, you have either of you enumerated."

      "I did not think of him," replied Palmer, smiling; "though, if I had, he scarcely deserves to be ranked with those illustrious heroes."

      "Gads bobs!" cried Titus; "they tell me Turpin keeps the best nag in the United Kingdom, and can ride faster and further in a day than any other man in a week."

      "So

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 confined to our own days—but the "finest country in the world" has been, and ever will be, the same. The old game is played under a new color—the only difference being, that had Redmond lived in our time, he would, in all probability, not only have pillaged a county, but represented it in parliament. The spirit of the Rapparee is still abroad—though we fear there is little of the Tory left about it. We recommend this note to the serious consideration of the declaimers against the sufferings of the "six millions."

17

Here Titus was slightly in error. He mistook the cause for the effect. "They were called Rapparees," Mr. Malone says, "from being armed with a half-pike, called by the Irish a rapparee."—Todd's Johnson.

18

Tory, so called from the Irish word Toree, give me your money.—Todd's Johnson.

19

As he was carried to the gallows, Jack played a fine tune of his own composing on the bagpipe, which retains the name of Macpherson's tune to this day.—History of the Rapparees.

20

"Notwithstanding he was so great a rogue, Delany was a handsome, portly man, extremely diverting in company, and could behave himself before gentlemen very agreeably. He had a political genius—not altogether surprising in so eminent a Tory—and would have made great proficiency in learning if he had rightly applied his time. He composed several songs, and put tunes to them; and by his skill in music gained the favor of some of the leading musicians in the country, who endeavored to get him reprieved."—History of the Rapparees. The particulars of the Songster's execution are singular:—"When he was brought into court to receive sentence of death, the judge told him that he was informed he should say 'that there was not a rope in Ireland sufficient to hang him. But,' says he, 'I'll try if Kilkenny can't afford one strong enough to do your business; and if that will not do, you shall have another, and another.' Then he ordered the sheriff to choose a rope, and Delany was ordered for execution the next day. The sheriff having notice of his mother's boasting that no rope could hang her son—and pursuant to the judge's desire—provided two ropes, but Delany broke them one after the other! The sheriff was then in a rage, and went for three bed-cords, which he plaited threefold together, and they did his business! Yet the sheriff was afraid he was not dead; and in a passion, to make trial, stabbed him with his sword in the soles of his feet, and at last cut the rope. After he was cut down, his body was carried into the courthouse, where it remained in the coffin for two days, standing up, till the judge and all the spectators were fully satisfied that he was stiff and dead, and then permission was given to his friends to remove the corpse and bury it."-History of the Rapparees.

21

Highwaymen, as contradistinguished from footpads.