Даниэль Дефо - Colonel Jack

The gentleman grew good-humoured at the reproof, and said, «Well, come, don’t go away; I won’t swear any more», says he, «if I can help it; for I own», says he, «I should not do it».

With that the old gentleman looked up at him, and, returning, «Really, sir», says he, «‘tis pity you, that seem to be a fine gentleman, well-bred and good-humoured, should accustom yourself to such a hateful practice. Why, ‘tis not like a gentleman to swear; ‘tis enough for my black wretches that work there at the furnace, or for these ragged, naked, blackguard boys», pointing at me, and some others of the dirty crew that lay in the ashes. «‘Tis bad enough for them», says he, «and they ought to be corrected for it, too; but for a man of breeding, sir», says he, «a gentleman, it ought to be looked upon as below them. Gentlemen know better, and are taught better, and it is plain you know better. I beseech you, sir, when you are tempted to swear, always ask yourself, ‘Is this like a gentleman? Does this become me as a gentleman?’ Do but ask yourself that question, and your reason will prevail – you will soon leave it off».

I heard all this, and it made the blood run chill in my veins when he said swearing was only fit for such as we were. In short, it made as great an impression upon me as it did upon the gentleman; and yet he took it very kindly too, and thanked the old gentleman for his advice. But from that time forward I never had the least inclination to swearing or ill words, and abhorred it when I heard other boys do it. As to drinking, I had no opportunity; for I had nothing to drink but water, or small-beer that anybody gave me in charity, for they seldom gave away strong beer; and after I had money, I neither desired strong beer or cared to part with my money to buy it.

Then as to principle, ‘tis true I had no foundation laid in me by education; and being early led by my fate into evil, I had the less sense of its being evil left upon my mind. But when I began to grow to an age of understanding, and to know that I was a thief, growing up in all manner of villainy, and ripening apace for the gallows, it came often into my thoughts that I was going wrong, that I was in the high-road to the devil; and several times I would stop short, and ask myself if this was the life of a gentleman.

But these little things wore off again as often as they came on, and I followed the old trade again, especially when Will came to prompt me, as I have observed, for he was a kind of a guide to me in all these things; and I had, by custom and application, together with seeing his way, learned to be as acute a workman as my master.

But to go back where I left off. Will came to me, as I have said, and telling me how much better business he was fallen into, would have me go along with him, and I should be a gentleman. Will, it seems, understood that word in a quite different manner from me; for his gentleman was nothing more or less than a gentleman thief, a villain of a higher degree than a pickpocket, and one that might do something more wicked, and better entitling him to the gallows, than could be done in our way. But my gentleman that I had my eye upon was another thing quite, though I could not really tell how to describe it either.

However, the word took with me, and I went with him. We were neither of us old. Will was about twenty-four; and as for me, I was now about eighteen, and pretty tall of my age.

The first time I went with him, he brought me into the company only of two more young fellows. We met at the lower part of Gray’s Inn Lane, about an hour before sunset, and went out into the fields toward a place called Pindar of Wakefield, where are abundance of brick-kilns. Here it was agreed to spread from the field-path to the roadway, all the way towards Pancras Church, to observe any chance game, as they called it, which they might shoot flying. Upon the path within the bank on the side of the road going towards Kentish Town, two of our gang, Will and one of the others, met a single gentleman walking apace towards the town. Being almost dark, Will cried, «Mark, ho!» which, it seems, was the word at which we were all to stand still at a distance, come in if he wanted help, and give a signal if anything appeared that was dangerous.

Will steps up to the gentleman, stops him, and put the question; that is, «Sir, your money?» The gentleman, seeing he was alone, struck at him with his cane; but Will, a nimble, strong fellow, flew in upon him, and with struggling got him down. Then he begged for his life, Will having told him with an oath that he would cut his throat. In that moment, while this was doing, comes a hackney-coach along the road, and the fourth man, who was that way, cries, «Mark, ho!» which was to intimate that it was a prize, not a surprise. And accordingly the next man went up to assist him, where they stopped the coach, which had a doctor of physic and a surgeon in it, who had been to visit some considerable patient, and, I suppose, had had considerable fees. For here they got two good purses, one with eleven or twelve guineas, the other six with some pocket-money, two watches, one diamond ring, and the surgeon’s plaster-box, which was most of it full of silver instruments.

While they were at this work, Will kept the man down who was under him; and though he promised not to kill him, unless he offered to make a noise, yet he would not let him stir till he heard the noise of the coach going on again, by which he knew the job was over on that side. Then he carried him a little out of the way, tied his hands behind him, and bade him lie still and make no noise, and he would come back in half-an-hour and untie him, upon his word; but if he cried out, he would come back and kill him.

The poor man promised to lie still and make no noise, and did so; and had not above 11s. 6d. in his pocket, which Will took, and came back to the rest; but while they were together, I, who was on the side of the Pindar of Wakefield, cried, «Mark, ho!» too.

What I saw was a couple of poor women, one a kind of a nurse, and the other a maid-servant, going for Kentish Town. As Will knew that I was but young at the work, he came flying to me, and seeing how easy a bargain it was, he said, «Go, colonel, fall to work». I went up to them, and speaking to the elderly woman, «Nurse», said I, «don’t be in such haste. I want to speak with you»; at which they both stopped, and looked a little frighted. «Don’t be frighted, sweetheart», said I to the maid; «a little of that money in the bottom of your pocket will make all easy, and I will do you no harm». By this time Will came up to us, for they did not see him before; then they began to scream out. «Hold!» says I; «make no noise, unless you have a mind to force us to murder you whether we will or no. Give me your money presently, and make no words, and we shan’t hurt you». Upon this the poor maid pulled out 5s. 6d., and the old woman a guinea and a shilling, crying heartily for her money, and said it was all she had left in the world. Well, we took it for all that, though it made my very heart bleed to see what agony the poor woman was in at parting with it, and I asked her where she lived. She said her name was Smith, and she lived at Kentish Town. I said nothing to her, but bid them go on about their business, and I gave Will the money. So in a few minutes we were all together again. Says one of the other rogues, «Come, this is well enough for one road; it’s time to be gone». So we jogged away, crossing the fields, out of the path towards Tottenham Court. «But hold!» says Will; «I must go and untie the man». «D – n him», says one of them, «let him lie». «No», says Will, «I won’t be worse than my word; I will untie him». So he went to the place, but the man was gone. Either he had untied himself, or somebody had passed by, and he had called for help, and so was untied; for he could not find him, nor make him hear, though he ventured to call twice for him aloud.