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

I had not sat long, I suppose, but somebody belonging to the family got knowledge of it, and a maid came and talked to me, but I said little to her, only cried still. At length it came to the gentleman's ears. As for the merchant, he was gone. When the gentleman heard of me he called me in, and began to talk with me again, and asked me what I stayed for.

I told him I had not stayed there all that while, for I had been gone a great while, and was come again.

"Well," says he, "but what did you come again for?"

"I can't tell," says I.

"And what do you cry so for?" said he. "I hope you have not lost your money, have you?"

No, I told him, I had not lost it yet, but was afraid I should.

"And does that make you cry?" says he.

I told him yes, for I knew I should not be able to keep it, but they would cheat me of it, or they would kill me and take it away from me too.

"They?" says he. "Who? What sort of gangs of people art thou with?"

I told him they were all boys, but very wicked boys; "thieves and pickpockets," said I, "such as stole this letter-case-a sad pack; I can't abide them."

"Well, Jacque," said he, "what shall be done for thee? Will you leave it with me? Shall I keep it for you?"

"Yes," said I, "with all my heart, if you please."

"Come, then," says he, "give it me; and that you may be sure that I have it, and you shall have it honestly again, I'll give you a bill for it, and for the interest of it, and that you may keep safe enough. Nay," added he, "and if you lose it, or anybody takes it from you, none shall receive the money but your self, or any part of it."

I presently pulled out all the money, and gave it to him, only keeping about 15s. for myself to buy some clothes; and thus ended the conference between us on the first occasion, at least for the first time. Having thus secured my money to my full satisfaction, I was then perfectly easy, and accordingly the sad thoughts that afflicted my mind before began to vanish away.

This was enough to let any one see how all the sorrows and anxieties of men's lives come about; how they rise from their restless pushing at getting of money, and the restless cares of keeping it when they have got it. I that had nothing, and had not known what it was to have had anything, knew nothing of the care, either of getting or of keeping it; I wanted nothing, who wanted everything; I had no care, no concern about where I should get my victuals or how I should lodge; I knew not what money was, or what to do with it; and never knew what it was not to sleep till I had money to keep, and was afraid of losing it.

I had, without doubt, an opportunity at this time, if I had not been too foolish, and too much a child to speak for myself-I had an opportunity, I say, to have got into the service, or perhaps to be under some of the care and concern, of these gentlemen; for they seemed to be very fond of doing some thing for me, and were surprised at the innocence of my talk to them, as well as at the misery (as they thought it) of my condition.

But I acted indeed like a child; and leaving my money, as I have said, I never went near them for several years after. What course I took, and what befell me in that interval, has so much variety in it, and carries so much instruction in it, that it requires an account of it by itself.

The first happy chance that offered itself to me in the world was now over. I had got money, but I neither knew the value of it or the use of it; the way of living I had begun was so natural to me, I had no notion of bettering it; I had not so much as any desire of buying me any clothes-no, not so much as a shirt; and much less had I any thought of getting any other lodging than in the glass-house, and loitering about the streets, as I had done; for I knew no good, and had tasted no evil; that is to say, the life I had led being not evil in my account.

In this state of ignorance I returned to my really miserable life; so it was in itself, and was only not so to me because I did not understand how to judge of it, and had known no better.

My comrade that gave me back the bills, and who, if I had not pressed him, designed never to have restored them, never asked me what I had given me, but told me if they gave me anything it should be my own; for, as he said he would not run the venture of being seen in the restoring them, I deserved the reward if there was any; neither did he trouble his head with inquiring what I had, or whether I had anything or no; so my title to what I had got was clear.

I went now up and down just as I did before. I had money indeed in my pocket, but I let nobody know it. I went of errands cheerfully as before, and accepted of what anybody gave me with as much thankfulness as ever. The only difference that I made with myself was, that if I was hungry, and nobody employed me, or gave me anything to eat, I did not beg from door to door, as I did at first, but went to a boiling-house, as I said once before, and got a mess of broth and a piece of bread, price a halfpenny; very seldom any meat; or if I treated myself, it was a halfpennyworth of cheese; all which expense did not amount to above twopence or three pence a week; for, contrary to the usage of the rest of the tribe, I was extremely frugal, and I had not disposed of any of the guineas which I had at first; neither, as I said to the custom-house gentleman, could I tell what a guinea was made of, or what it was worth.

After I had been about a month thus, and had done nothing, my comrade, as I called him, came to me one morning. "Colonel Jacque," says he, "when shall you and I take a walk again?" "When you will," said I. "Have you got no business yet?" says he. "No," says I; and so one thing bringing on another, he told me I was a fortunate wretch, and he believed I would be so again, but that he must make a new bargain with me now; "for," says he, "colonel, the first time we always let a raw brother come in for full share to encourage him; but afterwards, except it be when he puts himself forward well and runs equal hazard, he stands to courtesy; but as we are gentlemen, we always do very honourably by one another; and if you are willing to trust it or leave it to me, I shall do handsomely by you, that you may depend upon." I told him I was not able to do anything, that was certain, for I did not understand it, and therefore I could not expect to get anything, but I would do as he bade me; so we walked abroad together.

We went no more to the custom-house; it was too bold a venture. Besides, I did not care to show myself again, especially with him in company. But we went directly to the Exchange, and we hankered about in Castle Alley, and in Swithin's Alley, and at the coffee-house doors. It was a very unlucky day, for we got nothing all day but two or three handkerchiefs, and came home to the old lodgings at the glass-house; nor had I had anything to eat or drink all day but a piece of bread which he gave me, and some water at the conduit at the Exchange Gate. So when he was gone from me, for he did not lie in the glass-house, as I did, I went to my old broth-house for my usual bait, and refreshed myself, and the next day early went to meet him again, as he appointed me.

Being early in the morning, he took his walk to Billingsgate, where it seems two sorts of people make a great crowd as soon as it is light, and at that time a-year rather before daylight; that is to say, crimps and the masters of coal-ships, whom they call collier-masters; and, secondly, fishmongers, fish-sellers, and buyers of fish.

It was the first of these people that he had his eye upon. So he gives me my orders, which was thus: "Go you," says he, "into all the alehouses as we go along, and observe where any people are telling of money; and when you find any, come and tell me." So he stood at the door, and I went into the houses. As the collier-masters generally sell their coals at the gate, as they call it, so they generally receive their money in those alehouses; and it was not long before I brought him word of several. Upon this he went in and made his observations, but found nothing to his purpose. At length I brought him word that there was a man in such a house who had received a great deal of money of somebody, I believed of several people, and that it lay all upon the table in heaps, and he was very busy writing down the sums and putting it up in several bags. "Is he?" says he; "I'll warrant him I will have some of it;" and in he goes. He walks up and down the house, which had several open tables and boxes in it, and he listened to hear, if he could, what the man's name was; and he heard somebody call him Cullum, or some such name. Then he watches his opportunity, and steps up to him, and tells him a long story, that there was two gentlemen at the Gun tavern sent him to inquire for him, and to tell him they desired to speak with him.

The collier-master had his money lay before him, just as I had told him, and had two or three small payments of money, which he had put up in little black dirty bags, and lay by themselves; and as it was hardly broad day, he found means in delivering his message to lay his hands upon one of those bags, and carry it off perfectly undiscovered.

When we had got it he came out to me, who stood but at the door, and pulling me by the sleeve, "Run, Jacque," says he, "for our lives;" and away he scours, and I after him, never resting, or scarce looking about me, till we got quite up into Fenchurch Street, through Lime Street into Leadenhall Street, down St. Mary Axe to London Wall, then through Bishopsgate Street and down Old Bedlam into Moorfields. By this time we were neither of us able to run very fast; nor need we have gone so far, for I never found that anybody pursued us. When we got into Moorfields and began to take breath, I asked him what it was frighted him so. "Fright me, you fool!" says he; "I have got a devilish great bag of money." "A bag!" said I. "Ay, ay," said he; "let us get out into the fields where nobody can see us, and I'll show it you." So away he had me through Long Alley, and cross Hog Lane and Holloway Lane, into the middle of the great field, which since that has been called the Farthing Pie-House Fields. There we would have sat down, but it was all full of water; so we went on, crossed the road at Anniseed Cleer, and went into the field where now the great hospital stands; and finding a by-place, we sat down, and he pulls out the bag. "Thou art a lucky boy, Jacque," says he; "thou deservest a good share of this job, truly; for it is all along of thy lucky news." So he pours it all out into my hat; for, as I told you, I now wore a hat.

How he did to whip away such a bag of money from any man that was awake and in his senses I cannot tell; but there was a great deal in it, and among it a paperful by itself. When the paper dropped out of the bag, "Hold," says he, "that is gold!" and began to crow and hollow like a mad boy. But there he was baulked; for it was a paper of old thirteenpence-halfpenny pieces, half and quarter pieces, with ninepences and fourpence-halfpennies-all old crooked money, Scotch and Irish coin; so he was disappointed in that. But as it was there was about £17 or £18 in the bag, as I understood by him; for I could not tell money, not I.

Well, he parted this money into three; that is to say, into three shares-two for himself and one for me, and asked if I was content. I told him yes, I had reason to be contented. Besides, it was so much money added to that I had left of his former adventure that I knew not what to do with it, or with myself, while I had so much about me.

This was a most exquisite fellow for a thief; for he had the greatest dexterity at conveying anything away that he scarce ever pitched upon anything in his eye but he carried it off with his hands, and never that I know of missed his aim or was caught in the fact.

He was an eminent pickpocket, and very dexterous at ladies' gold watches; but he generally pushed higher at such desperate things as these; and he came off the cleanest and with the greatest success imaginable; and it was in these kinds of the wicked art of thieving that I became his scholar.

As we were now so rich, he would not let me lie any longer in the glass-house, or go naked and ragged as I had done, but obliged me to buy two shirts, a waistcoat, and a greatcoat; for a greatcoat was more for our purpose in the business we was upon than any other. So I clothed myself as he directed, and he took me a lodging in the same house with him, and we lodged together in a little garret fit for our quality.

Soon after this we walked out again, and then we tried our fortune in the places by the Exchange a second time. Here we began to act separately, and I undertook to walk by myself; and the first thing I did accurately was a trick I played that argued some skill for a new beginner; for I had never seen any business of that kind done before. I saw two gentlemen mighty eager in talk, and one pulled out a pocket-book two or three times, and then slipt it into his coat-pocket again, and then out it came again, and papers were taken out and others were put in; and then in it went again, and so several times; the man being still warmly engaged with another man, and two or three others standing hard by them. The last time he put his pocket-book into his pocket, he might be said to throw it in rather than put it in with his hand, and the book lay end-way, resting upon some other book or something else in his pocket; so that it did not go quite down, but one corner of it was seen above his pocket.

This careless way of men putting their pocket-books into a coat-pocket, which is so easily dived into by the least boy that has been used to the trade, can never be too much blamed. The gentlemen are in great hurries, their heads and thoughts entirely taken up, and it is impossible they should be guarded enough against such little hawk's-eyed creatures as we were; and, therefore, they ought either never to put their pocket-books up at all, or to put them up more secure, or to put nothing of value into them. I happened to be just opposite to this gentleman in that they call Swithin's Alley, or that alley rather which is between Swithin's Alley and the Exchange, just by a passage that goes out of the alley into the Exchange, when, seeing the book pass and repass into the pocket and out of the pocket as above, it came immediately into my head, certainly I might get that pocket-book out if I were nimble, and I warrant Will would have it, if he saw it go and come to and again as I did. But when I saw it hang by the way, as I have said, "Now it is mine," said I to myself, and, crossing the alley, I brushed smoothly but closely by the man, with my hand down flat to my own side, and, taking hold of it by the corner that appeared, the book came so light into my hand, it was impossible the gentleman should feel the least motion, or anybody else see me take it away. I went directly forward into the broad place on the north side of the Exchange, then scoured down Bartholomew Lane, so into Tokenhouse Yard, into the alleys which pass through from thence to London Wall, so through Moorgate, and sat down on the grass in the second of the quarters of Moorfields, towards the middle field; which was the place that Will and I had appointed to meet at if either of us got any booty. When I came thither Will was not come; but I saw him coming in about half-an-hour.

As soon as Will came to me I asked him what booty he had gotten. He looked pale, and, as I thought, frighted; but he returned, "I have got nothing, not I; but, you lucky young dog," says he, "what have you got? Have not you got the gentleman's pocket-book in Swithin's Alley?" "Yes," says I, and laughed at him; "why, how did you know it?" "Know it!" says he. "Why, the gentleman is raving and half distracted; he stamps and cries and tears his very clothes. He says he is utterly undone and ruined, and the folks in the alley say there is I know not how many thousand pounds in it. What can be in it?" says Will. "Come, let us see."

Well, we lay close in the grass in the middle of the quarter, so that nobody minded us; and so we opened the pocket-book, and there was a great many bills and notes under men's hands; some goldsmiths', and some belonging to insurance offices, as they call them, and the like. But that which was, it seems, worth all the rest was that, in one of the folds of the cover of the book, where there was a case with several partitions, there was a paper full of loose diamonds. The man, as we understood afterward, was a Jew, who dealt in such goods, and who indeed ought to have taken more care of the keeping of them.

Now was this booty too great, even for Will himself, to manage; for though by this time I was come to understand things better than I did formerly, when I knew not what belonged to money, yet Will was better skilled by far in those things than I. But this puzzled him too, as well as me. Now were we something like the cock in the fable; for all these bills, and I think there was one bill of Sir Henry Furness's for £1200, and all these diamonds, which were worth about £150, as they said-I say, all these things were of no value to us: one little purse of gold would have been better to us than all of it. "But come," says Will, "let us look over the bills for a little one."

We looked over all the bills, and among them we found a bill under a man's hand for £32. "Come," says Will, "let us go and inquire where this man lives." So he went into the City again, and Will went to the post-house, and asked there. They told him he lived at Temple Bar. "Well," says Will, "I will venture. I'll go and receive the money; it may be he has not remembered to send to stop the payment there."

But it came into his thoughts to take another course. "Come," says Will, "I'll go back to the alley, and see if I can hear anything of what has happened, for I believe the hurry is not over yet." It seems the man who lost the book was carried into the King's Head tavern at the end of that alley, and a great crowd was about the door.

Away goes Will, and watches and waits about the place; and then, seeing several people together, for they were not all dispersed, he asks one or two what was the matter. They tell him a long story of a gentleman who had lost his pocket-book, with a great bag of diamonds in it, and bills for a great many thousand pounds, and I know not what; and that they had been just crying it, and had offered £100 reward to any one who would discover and restore it.

"I wish," said he to one of them that parleyed with him, "I did but know who has it; I don't doubt but I could help him to it again. Does he remember nothing of anybody, boy or fellow, that was near him? If he could but describe him, it might do." Somebody that overheard him was so forward to assist the poor gentleman that they went up and let him know what a young fellow, meaning Will, had been talking at the door; and down comes another gentleman from him, and, taking Will aside, asked him what he had said about it. Will was a grave sort of a young man, that, though he was an old soldier at the trade, had yet nothing of it in his countenance; and he answered that he was concerned in business where a great many of the gangs of little pickpockets haunted, and if he had but the least description of the person they suspected, he durst say he could find him out, and might perhaps get the things again for him. Upon this he desired him to go up with him to the gentleman, which he did accordingly; and there, he said, he sat leaning his head back to the chair, pale as a cloth, disconsolate to a strange degree, and, as Will described him, just like one under a sentence.

When they came to ask him whether he had seen no boy or shabby fellow lurking near where he stood, or passing, or repassing, and the like, he answered, "No, not any." Neither could he remember that anybody had come near him. "Then," said Will, "it will be very hard, if not impossible, to find them out. However," said Will, "if you think it worth while, I will put myself among those rogues, though," says he, "I care not for being seen among them. But I will put in among them, and if it be in any of those gangs, it is ten to one but I shall hear something of it."

They asked him then if he had heard what terms the gentleman had offered to have it restored; he answered, "No" (though he had been told at the door). They answered, he had offered £100. "That is too much," says Will; "but if you please to leave it to me, I shall either get it for you for less than that, or not be able to get it for you at all." Then the losing gentleman said to one of the other, "Tell him that if he can get it lower, the overplus shall be to himself." William said he would be very glad to do the gentleman such a service, and would leave the reward to himself. "Well, young man," says one of the gentlemen, "whatever you appoint to the young artist that has done this roguery (for I warrant he is an artist, let it be who it will), he shall be paid, if it be within the £100, and the gentleman is willing to give you £50 besides for your pains."

"Truly, sir," says Will very gravely, "it was by mere chance that, coming by the door, and seeing the crowd, I asked what the matter was. But if I should be instrumental to get the unfortunate gentleman his pocket-book and the things in it again, I shall be very glad; nor am I so rich neither, sir, but £50 is very well worth my while too." Then he took directions who to come to, and who to give his account to if he learned anything, and the like.

Will stayed so long that, as he and I agreed, I went home, and he did not come to me till night; for we had considered before that it would not be proper to come from them directly to me, lest they should follow him and apprehend me. If he had made no advances towards a treaty, he would have come back in half-an-hour, as we agreed; but staying late, we met at our night rendezvous, which was in Rosemary Lane.

When he came he gave an account of all the discourse, and particularly what a consternation the gentleman was in who lost the pocket-book, and that he did not doubt but we should get a good round sum for the recovery of it.

We consulted all the evening about it, and concluded he should let them hear nothing of them the next day at all; and that the third day he should go, but should make no discovery; only that he had got a scent of it, and that he believed he should have it, and make it appear as difficult as possible, and to start as many objections as he could. Accordingly, the third day after he met with the gentleman, who, he found, had been uneasy at his long stay, and told him they were afraid that he only flattered them to get from them, and that they had been too easy in letting him go without a further examination.

He took upon him to be very grave with them, and told them that if that was what he was like to have for being so free as to tell them he thought he might serve them, they might see that they had wronged him, and were mistaken by his coming again to them; that if they thought they could do any thing by examining him, they might go about it, if they pleased, now; that all he had to say to them was, that he knew where some of the young rogues haunted who were famous for such things; and that by some inquiries, offering them money, and the like, he believed they would be brought to betray one another, and that so he might pick it out for them; and this he would say before a justice of peace, if they thought fit; and then all that he had to say further to them was to tell them he had lost a day or two in their service, and had got nothing but to be suspected for his pains, and that after that he had done, and they might seek their goods where they could find them.

They began to listen a little upon that, and asked him if he could give them any hopes of recovering their loss. He told them that he was not afraid to tell them that he believed he had heard some news of them, and that what he had done had prevented all the bills being burnt, book and all; but that now he ought not to be asked any more questions till they should be pleased to answer him a question or two. They told him they would give him any satisfaction they could, and bid him tell what he desired.

"Why, sir," says he, "how can you expect any thief that had robbed you to such a considerable value as this would come and put himself into your hands, confess he had your goods, and restore them to you, if you do not give them assurance that you will not only give them the reward you agreed to, but also give assurance that they shall not be stopped, questioned, or called to account before a magistrate?"

They said they would give all possible assurance of it. "Nay," says he, "I do not know what assurance you are able to give; for when a poor fellow is in your clutches and has shown you your goods, you may seize upon him for a thief, and it is plain he must be so. Then you go, take away your goods, send him to prison, and what amends can he have of you afterward?"

They were entirely confounded with the difficulty; they asked him to try if he could get the things into his hands, and they would pay him the money before he let them go out of his hand, and he should go away half-an-hour before they went out of the room.

"No, gentlemen," says he, "that won't do now. If you had talked so before you had talked of apprehending me for nothing, I should have taken your words; but now it is plain you have had such a thought in your heads, and how can I, or any one else, be assured of safety?"

Well, they thought of a great many particulars, but nothing would do. At length the other people who were present put in, that they should give security to him, by a bond of £1000, that they would not give the person any trouble whatsoever. He pretended they could not be bound, nor could their obligation be of any value, and that their own goods being once seen, they might seize them. "And what would it signify," said he, "to put a poor pick pocket to sue for his reward?" They could not tell what to say, but told him that he should take the things of the boy, if it was a boy, and they would be bound to pay him the money promised. He laughed at them, and said, "No, gentlemen; as I am not the thief, so I shall be very loth to put myself in the thief's stead and lie at your mercy."

They told him they knew not what to do then, and that it would be very hard he would not trust them at all. He said he was very willing to trust them and to serve them, but that it would be very hard to be ruined and charged with the theft for endeavouring to serve them.

They then offered to give it him under their hands that they did not in the least suspect him; that they would never charge him with anything about it; that they acknowledged he went about to inquire after the goods at their request; and that if he produced them, they would pay him so much money, at or before the delivery of them, without obliging him to name or produce that person he had them from.

Upon this writing, signed by three gentlemen who were present, and by the person in particular who lost the things, the young gentleman told them he would go and do his utmost to get the pocket-book and all that was in it.

Then he desired that they would in writing, beforehand, give him a particular of all the several things that were in the book, that he might not have it said, when he produced it, that there was not all; and he would have the said writing sealed up, and he would make the book be sealed up when it was given to him. This they agreed to; and the gentleman accordingly drew up a particular of all the bills that he remembered, as he said, was in the book, and also of the diamonds, as follows: -

One bill under Sir Henry Furness's hand for £1200.

One bill under Sir Charles Duncomb's hand for £800, £250 endorsed off = £550.

One bill under the hand of J. Tassel, goldsmith, £165.

One bill of Sir Francis Child, £39.

One bill of one Stewart, that kept a wager-office and insurance, £350.

A paper containing thirty-seven loose diamonds, value about £250.

A little paper containing three large rough diamonds, and one large one polished and cut, value £185.

For all these things they promised, first, to give him whatever he agreed with the thief to give him, not exceeding £50, and to give him £50 more for himself for procuring them.

Now he had his cue, and now he came to me, and told me honestly the whole story as above. So I delivered him the book, and he told me that he thought it was reasonable we should not take the full sum, because he would seem to have done them some service, and so make them the easier. All this I agreed to; so he went the next day to the place, and the gentlemen met him very punctually.

He told them at the first word he had done their work, and, as he hoped, to their mind; and told them, if it had not been for the diamonds, he could have got all for £10; but that the diamonds had shone so bright in the boy's imagination that he talked of running away to France or Holland, and living there all his days like a gentleman; at which they laughed. "However, gentlemen," said he, "here is the book;" and so pulled it out, wrapt up in a dirty piece of a coloured handkerchief, as black as the street could make it, and sealed with a piece of sorry wax, and the impression of a farthing for a seal.

Upon this, the note being also unsealed, at the same time he pulled open the dirty rag, and showed the gentleman his pocket-book; at which he was so over-surprised with joy, notwithstanding all the preparatory discourse, that he was fain to call for a glass of wine or brandy to drink, to keep him from fainting.

The book being opened, the paper of diamonds was first taken out, and there they were every one; only the little paper was by itself; and the rough diamonds that were in it were loose among the rest, but he owned they were all there safe.