CHAPTER VIII.
RELEASE OF BOB—CAPTAIN JACK’S BAND—THE UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL—THE QUARREL—THIRTEEN DEATH WARRANTS—FLIGHT OF THE THIEF-TAKERS.
RELEASE OF BOB—CAPTAIN JACK’S BAND—THE UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL—THE QUARREL—THIRTEEN DEATH WARRANTS—FLIGHT OF THE THIEF-TAKERS.
Bob the outcast, as we have seen, was thrown into prison, and safely guarded by the village authorities.
As may be supposed, poor Bob was almost turned crazy by the terrible event, and walked up and down his prison cell looking pale, thoughtful, and miserable.
He protested his innocence on all occasions.
Many believed that the murderers or murderer would in time be traced to the far-famed Skeleton Crew, who prowled around the neighbouring coasts.
The keeper of the village prison was a timid old man, and much feared that the red-hot zeal on the part of some of Bob’s sympathisers might lead them on to attack the gaol, perhaps attempt a rescue.
This so weighed upon the chief constable’s mind that he wrote off to London, begging of the authorities there to take the case in hand.
In accordance with the wishes of the village authorities a party of men were sent down to Darlington for the purpose of conducting Rambling Bob to London.
The party consisted of seven mounted men, all armed to the teeth, who arrived in the village one evening, several days after the commission of the murder.
They pulled up their horses, and alighted at the “Red Lion” public-house.
With many loud words, a great deal of bombastic talk and swearing, they clattered about the inn yard, shouting to the ostlers and servants in such a grand style that old Hornblower, the publican, began to think that perhaps his visitors were none other than royal personages, or nobles, at least.
Old Horn (the “blower” always being left out in common discourse) was very much mistaken; the new arrivals were none other than six thief-takers, and as big rogues and rascals as ever straddled horses, or swaggered about with swords at their heels.
They were dressed in their best, however, and seemed very flush of money; how they got it will be seen hereafter.
They rang the bells loudly, shouted and swore right and left until old Horn and his servants were almost driven mad.
“Who be they?” asked the ostler.
“Don’t know, lad; but suppose they’re very great folks.”
“They ride good nags, anyhow.”
“And kick up a darned big fuss, too. Can’t ye hear ’em?”
“They be Londoners,” said the housemaid; “I can tell by their talk, and they allers do make a noise when they goes in the country.”
“What do they want down here, I wonder?”
“Can’t tell; but they ask for the best beds in the inn, and the best wine in the cellar, so they mun have plenty of money.”
While the servants were thus talking among themselves the old landlord and his kitchen domestics were busy in providing supper for the hungry travellers.
“Boots” was nearly run off his legs, and didn’t know what to do first.
He became confused, and forgot half of what he was told.
“Here, lad,” said one, “bring me some brandy. Quick. Hot, mind!”
“Brandy, sir, yes, sir. Hot sir? With or without? Just so, sir. Brandy hot without, sir? Thank’ee, sir.”
And off he shot.
But before he had fairly closed the door,
“Here! hi! waiter! quick!” said another. “Mulled port for me. Quick, for your life! I’m almost frozen to death!”
“Port, sir? Yes, sir. Mulled, sir? Thank’ee, sir.”
Off he went; but the bell was rung violently again.
“Here! hi! waiter!”
“Come here, lad!”
“Iwant you, do you hear?”
“Servemefirst.”
“No;Igave my order first.”
“No you didn’t.”
“Spiced ale.”
“Bring me a chop in less than five minutes, or I’ll cut your head off!”
“My brandy and water, you idiot!”
“If my hot spiced ale doesn’t appear in three minutes by the clock, I’ll blow the rascal’s brains out.”
“Will you never let me have my brandy and water, you villain?”
“Cut the rascal’s ear off.”
“How’s my horse getting on?”
“Let my bed be warmed.”
“Not mine, stupid; his, mind.”
“Where’s the landlord?”
“Brandy!” “Ale!” “Rum!” “Bottle of wine!” “Beefsteaks!” “A chop for me!” “Clean my boots!” “See to my horse!” “Long pipes!” “Stir up this fire!” “Put more coals on!” “How long’s supper going to be?”
These and such-like orders rung in the bewildered ears of Nat the boots.
He rushed hither and thither like a wild man all of a sweat.
He forgot half his orders, and so mixed up the others that he was kicked and cuffed about like a foot-ball by the noisy and by no means polite strangers.
Take them altogether this half-dozen were as ugly and as villanous-looking a lot as could be well met with anywhere.
They all had the marks of rogues and cut-throats engraven on their countenances.
Some were decorated with black patches across the forehead, over the eye, or on their high cheek bones.
One or two were minus an eye.
One individual’s nose was almost level with his face.
Several had part of their front teeth knocked out; but each had big thick fists, with which from time to time they struck the table until they made the glasses dance and ring again.
Loud and coarse was their laughter, and when they smiled at any passing joke or observation, their countenances were more like those of hyenas just about feeding time than human beings.
The recognised leader of this desperate half-dozen was called Captain Jack, an individual of great strength, who delighted in much swearing and obscene conversation. Jack what, no one knew for certain, not even those who employed him.
When at last supper was provided for this very select and genteel party they set to work vigorously with knives and forks, and soon demolished a huge amount of meat and vegetables, more than would have sufficed for any ordinary supper party of twenty individuals.
They feasted, and swore, and laughed, and bolted their food in a heathenish style, as if all of them had been fasting for a month.
Long, copious draughts of various beverages washed the grog down their capacious throats, and they occasionally enlivened the proceedings by throwing potatoes at Nat the waiter, and hitting him in the eye, on the nose, &c., until “Boots’s” face was bumped and swollen.
When the repast was over these six elegant individuals and their captain stretched themselves on chairs, and puffed clouds from long pipes, as if they were the first gentlemen the land instead of the greatest rascals unhung.
“As I was saying, lads,” Capt. Jack observed, after drinking some brandy and water, “as I was saying I shouldn’t have taken this pretty job in hand, you know, only it gave us all a chance to do a little business on the road on our private account.”
“True,” growled Tom Bates, an oldish, ugly-looking person, with one eye and a broken nose, “true, captain, and when yer did want anybody, in course you knowed where to find ’em. Ah! we’ve had some r-a-r-e old times together, haven’t we, cap’n?” said Bates, with a long-drawn sigh, which he further suppressed with a flood of spiced ale down his throat.
“True, Tom; but the idea of the ‘Baker’s Dozen,’ as we are called, was yours.”
“In course it were,” said Bates. “But I arn’t at all proud; it were only a lucky thought. When you got your fust job from the justices what could a-been a neater idea than to have a company o’ twelve or thirteen good trusty lads about ye, when times were busy, all sworn to secrecy and fair shares o’ booty?”
[It must be here explained, for the reader’s information, that Captain Jack had been such a noted thief and rascal in his time that he had often been, and was now regularly, employed as thief-taker.]
But this position only gave him opportunities of becoming a still greater scoundrel. With this view, he and Tom Bates formed the idea of having a band of twelve or thirteen men, who should act under the captain’s orders, and, under cover of being the thief-taker’s occasional assistants, would thus have an ample chance of “turning a dishonest penny to their own account.”
This was agreed upon, and the band formed; the name under which they were known was the “Baker’s Dozen.”
Each man had a particular talent, one for house-breaking, a second for counterfeiting, a third for horse-stealing, and so on.
The authorities never dreamed that such a banded company existed, and placed all faith in Captain Jack, although he was the greatest rogue in England, as will be seen in this exciting narrative.
“We’ve often heard the whole story before, Tom,” said Faulkner, another of the company, “so cut it for the present; it’s been many a good year in existence, and I warrant ye hadn’t as many grog blossoms on your nose afore it started as ye have now.”
“Stow that, Faulkey,” said Bates. “I’ve got corns as well as grog blossoms, mind, and you wouldn’t a-been one o’ the dozen at all ’cept for me—no, that yer wouldn’t; but I know what yer would a been.”
“What?”
“Why, meat for vultures and night carrion birds, as pay their respects to the gibbets.”
This remark made all laugh, for it was well-known among them that Faulkner would have been hung on the charge of robbery had not Bates induced Captain Jack to swear that he was innocent.
“Well, enough of charf,” said Captain Jack; “let’s to business. Is that door shut?”
“Yes.”
“Well, let one of ye go and stand outside to give the office if any one comes in.”
This was done.
They all clustered round the table, and dived their hands down into their capacious pockets.
One produced a purse, another some finger and car-rings; two others had a bundle of bank-notes, watches, snuff-boxes, the diamond hilts of broken swords, jewelled shoe and dress buckles; and other things of value were displayed.
“You haven’t been idle on the road, I see,” said Captain Jack, with a grin. “This makes up for our unpleasant journey down here for that silly bumpkin.”
While they were dividing the booty Captain Jack was deep in figures, and so was Tom Bates, that the entire swag might be apportioned so as to give themselves the greatest share.
While thus engaged, Bates raised his eyes towards the parlour window.
“Dam’me if there ain’t some one peeping through the round hole in the shutter!” he stammered.
In an instant he pulled out his pistol, and fired!
The ball smashed the glass, and went right through the hole.
Some one was heard to fall outside.
Tom Bates rushed to the window, and flung the shutter open.
No one was there!
“Well, if I didn’t hit him, I must have shaved him closely,” said Bates, and closed the window again.
The moment Captain Jack had divided the spoil, a horseman was heard to halt at the inn door.
“A traveller, and at this late hour. Who can it be?” said the select party in the parlour. “Who can it be?”
“Here, waiter” said one and another, “don’t let the place be over-crowded, there are seven of our party here already; you can’t accommodate any more.”
“I swear I’ll have no half bed to-night.”
“Nor I either.”
“Tell him to seek lodgings elsewhere in the village, landlord!”
“He shan’t sleep withme,” growled Bates, “whoever he is.”
“You needn’t put yourself out of temper, friend,” said the stranger, entering in a free and easy manner. “You needn’t put yourself into any flurry, for I wouldn’t have such an ugly-looking bed-fellow for all the gold in England.”
As he said this he cut Bates across the shoulders with his riding-whip.
“Hillo, what means this?” said Bates, spluttering with rage, “Isay, my fine, dandy gentleman, do you know who you’re cutting about the shoulders with your riding-whip? Take no such liberties, young man, or you may repent of it.”
“Tut, tut, man, you don’t know how to stand a joke.”
“That’s no joke, as you’ll quickly find, if you’re not very civil,” growled Bates, puffing his pipe.
“This parlour is engaged,” said Captain Jack.
“I see it is,” the stranger said, coolly.
“The beds are all engaged.”
“You had better go elsewhere.”
“We don’t wish to be disturbed; we are all friends here.”
“So I perceive,” said the stranger, coolly; “and I’m the last man in the wide world to make you enemies.”
He was cloaked, and wore his hat over his eyes. A strongly-built, elegant-looking gentleman he was, with pale face, fine eyes, and a dashing moustache.
His hands were remarkably white, but he seemed to have the strength of a vice in them.
He took a chair, and drew up to the fire.
“That chair belongs to one of our party, sir,” said Faulkner.
“Then let him get another,” said the new arrival, very coolly. “Waiter, bring me a bottle of wine, and call the landlord. I wish to speak to him.”
Nat brought the wine.
The stranger sipped it, threw a sovereign to the waiter in a careless manner, saying—
“Keep the change. Here, landlord, I want my horse looked after, give him the best stall in the stable.”
“There is not a stall vacant, sir.”
“Then turn some horse out, and put mine in. I want a bed also, the best bed in the inn.”
“All my beds are occupied.”
“It matters not; do as I tell you, or you’ll repent it.”
“You are a werry rude bragadocia fellow to speak thus in the presence of gentlemen,” said Tom Bates to the stranger.
“What do you say, old bilberry nose? Mind your own business.”
“I say, sir, that in the presence of gentlemen—”
“Gentlemen, ha! ha!—that’s good, hang me if it isn’t—you look very much like a gentleman, certainly; if that large wart was off the tip of your nose it would much improve your appearance.”
“Sir-r-r!” growled Bates, rising in anger. “What do you mean? Do you know whoI am?” said he, slapping his sword hilt.
“Oh, sit down and take it coolly,” the stranger replied, laughing. “Don’t stand there gaping like a half-stuck pig. Know you, of course I know you.”
“Then, sir, if you do, you know me to be a gentleman—an administrator of justice.”
“I know you to be a d—d old thief, the biggest liar, and, at a pinch, the biggest coward in all London,” the stranger replied.
“Thief! liar! coward!” gasped Bates, whipping out his sword. “If you are a man, defend yourself.”
“If you are not a fool, sit down; you can’t frighten me. I’m too old a bird for that.”
This quarrel had now thoroughly aroused Captain Jack’s party, who were noisy and boisterous; but they did not interfere, for they imagined that Bates was more than a match for the stranger.
“Draw, I say!” growled Bates, “or I’ll slay ye like a dog! Clear the way, there, comrades; leave this impudent rascal to me.”
“Sit down, or I’ll knock your head off!” was the cool reply.
Bates, all furious and maddened at the stranger’s calmness, made a fierce lunge at him.
The instant he did so, however, the stranger fired a pistol, and knocked the large wart from the tip of Bates’s nose, and next instant gave him such a smack on the jaw as laid that hero sprawling on the floor.
Tom Bates was thunderstruck, and sat upon the floor looking at the stranger with eyes of wonderment.
His friends were equally astonished, and for a moment it looked as if the whole party were intent on slaying the new comer.
“Stand back,” said he, waving them off; “put up your sword. I fear ye not, vagabonds, but listen to me; if one dare approach nearer I’ll scalp him.”
There was so much of determination, and an air of superiority about him, that all stood still and looked at him as if transfixed to the spot.
“Listen to me, knaves,” said he, eyeing every one of them with a keen look. “How many chief high roads are there leading out of London?”
“Thirteen,” Captain Jack answered, after a moment’s thought. “But what has that got to do with us?”
“Much more than you imagine. Since you left London, a new gibbet has been erected on each of those thirteen highways, just where they branch off at the cross roads.”
“Well!” said all in a breath, “and what of that? I don’t understand what all of this means.”
“ButIdo! It means this: those gibbets have been raised at the sole expense of a particular friend of yours.”
“For whom?”
“For each of you.”
“And who is this very particular, very dear, friend of ourn?” growled Faulkner.
“I am he!” said the stranger.
The rascals were tongue-tied at the stranger’s boldness as he went on.
“You came to conduct Bob Bertram to London?”
“We did! who could have told you?”
“Who told me that each of you went plundering on the way, and divided the booty just now?”
“Ha!” said Captain Jack; “watched, betrayed!”
“Silence,” said the stranger; “if you do not wish to be gibbeted before your time. This youth is accused of murder, but he did it not. He is not in Darlington gaol.”
“Not in gaol?”
“No; he has escaped.”
“How know you this?”
“I just came from the village. All is in an uproar. Wildfire Ned, Sir Richard Warbeck’s adopted nephew, is the hero who released him.”
The thievish thief-takers were amazed at what they heard.
“And now,” said the stranger; “since your mission here is ended, return to town; do you hear me? Return this very hour and carry this strange news to the proper authorities. And mark me, Captain Jack, every one of you remember that if you do not track and discover the real murderer of Farmer Bertram in less than two months, I’ll report you to the king; your death-warrants are now in my pocket. See them,” said the stranger, exhibiting a bundle of printed forms. “Here is one for Captain Jack, another for this red-nosed ass on the floor—Bates, I mean—a third for Faulkner there; in fine, I have been kind enough to provide each of you with a passport into the other world. As you may observe, they only requiremysignature.”
“And who the devilareyou?” gasped out one and all.
“I’ll let you see—but I had better write it on one of these death-warrants, say yours, Captain Jack, it will save me trouble afterwards. Landlord, pen and ink.”
“Do you knowthatname?” said the stranger, after writing it.
All the rascals looked at it in astonishment.
“The devil!” said Captain Jack.
“Not the devil, exactly,” said the strangercoolly; “but your very humble servant,Colonel Blood! a gentleman, I can assure you, who will feel great pleasure in introducing each of you to the common hangman, unless you produce in two months the real murderer of Farmer Bertram, and serve me at all times.”
The stranger was in truth no other than Colonel Blood, but what brought him so far from London was a mystery which we shall have to clear up shortly.