K. Henry. Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to have thy head.
Say. Ay, but I hope your Highness shall have his.--2nd Part of Henry
IV.
Punctual to his appointment, the next morning came Mr. Job Jonson. I had
been on the rack of expectation for the last three hours previous to
his arrival, and the warmth of my welcome must have removed any little
diffidence with which so shame-faced a gentleman might possibly have
been troubled.
At my request, he sat himself down, and seeing that my breakfast things
were on the table, remarked what a famous appetite the fresh air
always gave him. I took the hint, and pushed the rolls towards him. He
immediately fell to work, and for the next quarter of an hour, his mouth
was far too well occupied for the intrusive impertinence of words. At
last the things were removed, and Mr. Jonson began.
“I have thought well over the matter, your honour, and I believe we can
manage to trounce the rascals--for I agree with you, that there is not
a doubt that Thornton and Dawson are the real criminals; but the affair,
Sir, is one of the greatest difficulty and importance--nay, of the
greatest personal danger. My life may be the forfeit of my desire to
serve you--you will not, therefore, be surprised at my accepting your
liberal offer of three hundred a year, should I be successful; although
I do assure you, Sir, that it was my original intention to reject all
recompence, for I am naturally benevolent, and love doing a good
action. Indeed, Sir, if I were alone in the world, I should scorn any
remuneration, for virtue is its own reward; but a real moralist, your
honour, must not forget his duties on any consideration, and I have a
little family to whom my loss would be an irreparable injury; this,
upon my honour, is my only inducement for taking advantage of your
generosity;” and as the moralist ceased, he took out of his waistcoat
pocket a paper, which he handed to me with his usual bow of deference.
I glanced over it--it was a bond, apparently drawn up in all the legal
formalities, pledging myself, in case Job Jonson, before the expiration
of three days, gave that information which should lead to the detection
and punishment of the true murderers of Sir John Tyrrell, deceased,
to ensure to the said Job Jonson the yearly annuity of three hundred
pounds.
“It is with much pleasure that I shall sign this paper,” said I; “but
allow me (par parenthese) to observe, that since you only accept the
annuity for the sake of benefiting your little family, in case of your
death, this annuity, ceasing with your life, will leave your children as
pennyless as at present.”
“Pardon me, your honour,” rejoined Job, not a whit daunted at the truth
of my remark, “I can insure!”
“I forgot that,” said I, signing, and restoring the paper; “and now to
business.”
Jonson gravely and carefully looked over the interesting document I
returned to him, and carefully lapping it in three envelopes, inserted
it in a huge red pocket-book, which he thrust into an innermost pocket
in his waistcoat.
“Right, Sir,” said he, slowly, “to business. Before I begin, you must,
however, promise me, upon your honour as a gentleman, the strictest
secrecy, as to my communications.”
I readily agreed to this, so far as that secrecy did not impede my
present object; and Job being content with this condition, resumed.
“You must forgive me, if, in order to arrive at the point in question, I
set out from one which may seem to you a little distant.”
I nodded my assent, and Job continued.
“I have known Dawson for some years; my acquaintance with him commenced
at Newmarket, for I have always had a slight tendency to the turf. He
was a wild, foolish fellow, easily led into any mischief, but ever the
first to sneak out of it; in short, when he became one of us, which
his extravagance soon compelled him to do, we considered him as a very
serviceable tool, but one, that while he was quite wicked enough to
begin a bad action, was much too weak to go through with it; accordingly
he was often employed, but never trusted. By the word us, which I see
has excited your curiosity, I merely mean a body corporate, established
furtively, and restricted solely to exploits on the turf. I think it
right to mention this, because I have the honour to belong to many other
societies to which Dawson could never have been admitted. Well, Sir, our
club was at last broken up, and Dawson was left to shift for himself.
His father was still alive, and the young hopeful having quarrelled with
him, was in the greatest distress. He came to me with a pitiful story,
and a more pitiful face; so I took compassion upon the poor devil, and
procured him, by dint of great interest, admission into a knot of good
fellows, whom I visited, by the way, last night. Here I took him
under my especial care; and as far as I could, with such a dull-headed
dromedary, taught him some of the most elegant arts of my profession.
However, the ungrateful dog soon stole back to his old courses, and
robbed me of half my share of a booty to which I had helped him myself.
I hate treachery and ingratitude, your honour; they are so terribly
ungentlemanlike.
“I then lost sight of him, till between two and three months ago, when
he returned to town, and attended our meetings with Tom Thornton, who
had been chosen a member of the club some months before. Since we had
met, Dawson’s father had died, and I thought his flash appearance in
town arose from his new inheritance. I was mistaken: old Dawson had tied
up the property so tightly, that the young one could not scrape enough
to pay his debts; accordingly, before he came to town, he gave up his
life interest in the property to his creditors. However that be, Master
Dawson seemed at the top of Fortune’s wheel. He kept his horses, and
sported the set to champagne and venison; in short, there would have
been no end to his extravagance, had not Thornton sucked him like a
leech.
“It was about that time, that I asked Dawson for a trifle to keep me
from jail; for I was ill in bed, and could not help myself. Will you
believe, Sir, that the rascal told me to go and be d--d, and Thornton
said amen? I did not forget the ingratitude of my protege, though when
I recovered I appeared entirely to do so. No sooner could I walk about,
than I relieved all my necessities. He is but a fool who starves, with
all London before him. In proportion as my finances increased, Dawson’s
visibly decayed. With them, decreased also his spirits. He became
pensive and downcast; never joined any of our parties, and gradually
grew quite a useless member of the corporation. To add to his
melancholy, he was one morning present at the execution of an
unfortunate associate of ours: this made a deep impression upon him;
from that moment, he became thoroughly moody and despondent. He was
frequently heard talking to himself, could not endure to be left alone
in the dark, and began rapidly to pine away.
“One night, when he and I were seated together, he asked me if I never
repented of my sins, and then added, with a groan, that I had never
committed the heinous crime he had. I pressed him to confess, but he
would not. However, I coupled that half avowal with his sudden riches
and the mysterious circumstances of Sir John Tyrrell’s death, and dark
suspicions came into my mind. At that time, and indeed ever since Dawson
re-appeared, we were often in the habit of discussing the notorious
murder which then engrossed public attention; and as Dawson and Thornton
had been witnesses on the inquest, we frequently referred to them
respecting it. Dawson always turned pale, and avoided the subject;
Thornton, on the contrary, brazened it out with his usual impudence.
Dawson’s aversion to the mention of the murder now came into my
remembrance with double weight to strengthen my suspicions; and, on
conversing with one or two of our comrades, I found that my doubts
were more than shared, and that Dawson had frequently, when unusually
oppressed with his hypochondria, hinted at his committal of some
dreadful crime, and at his unceasing remorse for it.
“By degrees, Dawson grew worse and worse--his health decayed, he started
at a shadow--drank deeply, and spoke, in his intoxication, words that
made the hairs of our green men stand on end.
“We must not suffer this,” said Thornton, whose hardy effrontery enabled
him to lord it over the jolly boys, as if he were their dimber-damber;
“his ravings and humdurgeon will unman all our youngsters.” And so,
under this pretence, Thornton had the unhappy man conveyed away to a
secret asylum, known only to the chiefs of the gang, and appropriated
to the reception of persons who, from the same weakness as Dawson, were
likely to endanger others, or themselves. There many a poor wretch
has been secretly immured, and never suffered to revisit the light of
Heaven. The moon’s minions, as well as the monarch’s, must have their
state prisoners, and their state victims.
“Well, Sir, I shall not detain you much longer. Last night, after your
obliging confidence, I repaired to the meeting; Thornton was there, and
very much out of humour. When our messmates dropped off, and we were
alone, at one corner of the room, I began talking to him carelessly
about his accusation of your friend, whom I have since learnt is Sir
Reginald Glanville--an old friend of mine too; aye, you may look, Sir,
but I can stake my life to having picked his pocket one night at the
Opera. Thornton was greatly surprised at my early intelligence of a
fact, hitherto kept so profound a secret; however, I explained it
away by a boast of my skill in acquiring information: and he then
incautiously let out, that he was exceedingly vexed with himself for the
charge he had made against the prisoner, and very uneasy at the urgent
inquiries set on foot for Dawson. More and more convinced of his guilt,
I quitted the meeting, and went to Dawson’s retreat.
“For fear of his escape, Thornton had had him closely confined to one of
the most secret rooms in the house. His solitude and the darkness of
the place, combined with his remorse, had worked upon a mind, never
too strong, almost to insanity. He was writhing with the most acute and
morbid pangs of conscience that my experience, which has been pretty
ample, ever witnessed. The old hag, who is the Hecate (you see, Sir, I
have had a classical education) of the place, was very loth to admit
me to him, for Thornton had bullied her into a great fear of the
consequences of disobeying his instructions; but she did not dare
to resist my orders. Accordingly I had a long interview with the
unfortunate man; he firmly believes that Thornton intends to murder him;
and says, that if he could escape from his dungeon, he would surrender
himself up to the first magistrate he could find.
“I told him that an innocent man had been apprehended for the crime of
which I knew he and Thornton were guilty; and then taking upon myself
the office of a preacher, I exhorted him to atone, as far as possible,
for his past crime, by a full and faithful confession; that would
deliver the innocent, and punish the guilty. I held out to him the hope
that this confession might perhaps serve the purpose of king’s evidence,
and obtain him a pardon for his crime; and I promised to use my utmost
zeal and diligence to promote his escape from his present den.
“He said, in answer, that he did not wish to live; that he suffered the
greatest tortures of mind; and that the only comfort earth held out to
him would be to ease his remorse by a full acknowledgment of his crime,
and to hope for future mercy by expiating his offence on the scaffold;
all this, and much more, to the same purpose, the hen-hearted fellow
told me with sighs and groans. I would fain have taken his confession on
the spot, and carried it away with me, but he refused to give it to me,
or to any one but a parson, whose services he implored me to procure
him. I told him, at first, that the thing was impossible; but, moved by
his distress and remorse, I promised, at last, to bring one tonight,
who should both administer spiritual comfort to him and receive his
deposition. My idea at the moment was to disguise myself in the dress of
the pater cove, [Note: A parson, or minister--but generally applied to
a priest of the lowest order.] and perform the double job--since then I
have thought of a better scheme.
“As my character, you see, your honour, is not so highly prized by the
magistrates as it ought to be, any confession made to me might not be of
the same value as if it were made to any one else--to a gentleman like
you, for instance; and, moreover, it will not do for me to appear in
evidence against any of the fraternity; and for two reasons: first,
because I have taken a solemn oath never to do so; and, secondly,
because I have a very fair chance of joining Sir John Tyrrell in kingdom
come if I do. My present plan, therefore, if it meets your concurrence,
would be to introduce your honour as the parson, and for you to receive
the confession, which, indeed, you might take down in writing. This
plan, I candidly confess, is not without great difficulty and some
danger; for I have not only to impose you upon Dawson as a priest, but
also upon Brimstone Bess as one of our jolly boys; for I need not tell
you that any real parson might knock a long time at her door before it
could be opened to him. You must, therefore, be as mum as a mole, unless
she cants to you, and your answers must then be such as I shall dictate,
otherwise she may detect you, and, should any of the true men be in the
house, we should both come off worse than we went in.”
“My dear Mr. Job,” replied I, “there appears to me to be a much easier
plan than all this; and that is, simply to tell the Bow-street officers
where Dawson may be found, and I think they would be able to carry him
away from the arms of Mrs. Brimstone Bess without any great difficulty
or danger.”
Jonson smiled.
“I should not long enjoy my annuity, your honour, if I were to set the
runners upon our best hive. I should be stung to death before the week
was out. Even you, should you accompany me to-night, will never know
where the spot is situated, nor would you discover it again if you
searched all London, with the whole police at your back. Besides, Dawson
is not the only person in the house for whom the law is hunting--there
are a score others whom I have no desire to give up to the gallows--hid
among the odds and ends of the house, as snug as plums in a pudding. God
forbid that I should betray them, and for nothing too! No, your honour,
the only plan I can think of is the one I proposed; if you do not
approve of it, and it certainly is open to exception, I must devise some
other: but that may require delay.”
“No, my good Job,” replied I, “I am ready to attend you: but could
we not manage to release Dawson, as well as take his deposition?--his
personal evidence is worth all the written ones in the world.”
“Very true,” answered Job, “and if it be possible to give Bess the slip,
we will. However, let us not lose what we may get by grasping at what we
may not; let us have the confession first, and we’ll try for the release
afterwards. I have another reason for this, Sir, which, if you knew as
much of penitent prigs as I do, you would easily understand. However, it
may be explained by the old proverb, of ‘the devil was sick,’ As long
as Dawson is stowed away in a dark hole, and fancies devils in every
corner, he may be very anxious to make confessions, which, in broad
day-light, might not seem to him so desirable. Darkness and solitude are
strange stimulants to the conscience, and we may as well not lose any
advantage they give us.”
“You are an admirable reasoner,” cried I, “and I am impatient to
accompany you--at what hour shall it be?”
“Not much before midnight,” answered Jonson, “but your honour must
go back to school and learn lessons before then. Suppose Bess were
to address you thus: ‘Well you parish bull prig, are you for lushing
jackey, or pattering in the hum box?’ [Note: Well, you parson thief, are
you for drinking gin, or talking in the pulpit?] I’ll be bound you would
not know how to answer.”
“I am afraid you are right, Mr. Jonson,” said I, in a tone of
self-humiliation.
“Never mind,” replied the compassionate Job, “we are all born
ignorant--knowledge is not learnt in a day. A few of the most common and
necessary words in our St. Giles’s Greek, I shall be able to teach you
before night; and I will, beforehand, prepare the old lady for seeing a
young hand in the profession. As I must disguise you before we go, and
that cannot well be done here, suppose you dine with me at my lodgings.”
“I shall be too happy,” said I, not a little surprised at the offer.
“I am in Charlotte-street, Bloomsbury, No.--. You must ask for me by
the name of Captain Douglas,” said Job, with dignity, “and we’ll dine at
five, in order to have time for your preliminary initiation.”
“With all my heart,” said I; and Mr. Job Jonson then rose, and reminding
me of my promise of secrecy, took his departure.