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

Well, we came at length to Newcastle-upon-Tyne. Here, on a market-day, was a great throng of people, and several of the townspeople going to market to buy provisions; and here he played his pranks, cheated a shopkeeper of £15 or £16 in goods, and got clear away with them; stole a horse, and sold that he came upon, and played so many pranks that I was quite frighted for him. I say for him, for I was not concerned for myself, having never stirred out of the house where I lodged-at least not with him, nor without some or other with me belonging to the inn that might give an account of me.

Nor did I use this caution in vain; for he had made himself so public by his rogueries that he was waylaid everywhere to be taken, and had he not artfully at first given out that he was come from Scotland and was going toward London, inquiring that road, and the like, which amused his pursuers for the first day, he had been taken, and in all probability had been hanged there. But by that artifice he got half a day's time of them; and yet, as it was, he was put so to it that he was fain to plunge, horse and all, into the river Tweed, and swim over, and thereby made his escape. It was true that he was before upon Scots ground (as they call it), and consequently they had no power to have carried him off, if anybody had opposed them; yet, as they were in a full chase after him, could they have come up with him they would have run the risk of the rest, and they could but have delivered him up if they had been questioned about it. However, as he got over the Tweed, and was landed safe, they could neither follow him, the water being too high at the usual place of going over, nor could they have attempted to have brought him away if they had taken him. The place where he took the river was where there is a ford below Kelso, but the water being up, the ford was not passable, and he had no time to go to the ferry-boat, which is about a furlong off, opposite to the town.

Having thus made his escape, he went to Kelso, where he had appointed me to come after him. I followed with a heavy heart, expecting every hour to meet him upon the road in the custody of the constables and such people, or to hear of him in the gaol; but when I came to a place on the border called Woller-haugh-head, there I understood how he had been chased, and how he made his escape.

When I came to Kelso he was easy enough to be found; for his having desperately swam the Tweed, a rapid and large river, made him much talked of, though it seems they had not heard of the occasion of it, nor anything of his character; for he had wit enough to conceal all that, and live as retired as he could till I came to him.

I was not so much rejoiced at his safety as I was provoked at his conduct; and the more, for that I could not find he had yet the least notion of his having been void of common-sense with respect to his circumstances, as well as contrary to what he promised me. However, as there was no beating anything into his head by words, I only told him that I was glad he was at last gotten into a place of safety, and I asked him then how he intended to manage himself in that country. He said in few words he did not know yet. He doubted the people were very poor; but if they had any money he was resolved to have some of it.

"But do you know, too," says I, "that they are the severest people upon criminals of your kind in the world?" He did not value that, he said, in his blunt, short way; he would venture it. Upon this I told him that, seeing it was so, and he would run such ventures, I would take my leave of him and be gone back to England. He seemed sullen, or rather it was the roughness of his untractable disposition. He said I might do what I would, he would do as he found opportunity. However, we did not part immediately, but went on towards the capital city. On the road we found too much poverty and too few people to give him room to expect any advantage in his way; and though he had his eyes about him as sharp as a hawk, yet he saw plainly there was nothing to be done; for as to the men, they did not seem to have much money about them; and for the women, their dress was such that, had they any money, or indeed any pockets, it was impossible to come at them; for, wearing large plaids about them and down to their knees, they were wrapped up so close that there was no coming to make the least attempt of that kind.

Kelso was indeed a good town, and had abundance of people in it; and yet, though he stayed one Sunday there, and saw the church, which is very large and thronged with people, yet, as he told me, there was not one woman to be seen in all the church with any other dress than a plaid, except in two pews, which belonged to some nobleman, and who, when they came out, were so surrounded with footmen and servants that there was no coming near them, any more than there was any coming near the king surrounded by his guards.

We set out, therefore, with this discouragement, which I was secretly glad of, and went forward to Edinburgh. All the way thither we went through no considerable town, and it was but very coarse travelling for us, who were strangers; for we met with waters which were very dangerous to pass, by reason of hasty rains, at a place called Lauderdale, and where my captain was really in danger of drowning, his horse being driven down by the stream, and fell under him, by which he wetted and spoiled his stolen goods that he brought from Newcastle, and which he had kept dry strangely, by holding them up in his arms when he swam the Tweed. But here it wanted but little that he and his horse had been lost, not so much by the depth of the water as the fury of the current. But he had a proverb in his favour, and he got out of the water, though with difficulty enough, not being born to be drowned, as I shall observe afterwards in its place.

We came to Edinburgh the third day from Kelso, having stopped at an inn one whole day, at a place called Soutrahill, to dry our goods and refresh ourselves. We were oddly saluted at Edinburgh. The next day after we came thither, my captain having a desire to walk and look about him, asked me if I would go and see the town. I told him yes; so we went out, and coming through a gate that they call the Nether Bow, into the great High Street, which went up to the Cross, we were surprised to see it thronged with an infinite number of people. "Ay," says my captain, "this will do." However, as I had made him promise to make no adventures that day, otherwise I told him I would not go out with him, so I held him by the sleeve, and would not let him stir from me.

Then we came up to the Market Cross, and there besides the great number of people who passed and repassed, we saw a great parade or kind of meeting, like an exchange of gentlemen, of all ranks and qualities, and this encouraged my captain again, and he pleased himself with that sight.

It was while we were looking, and wondering at what we saw here, that we were surprised with a sight which we little expected. We observed the people running on a sudden, as to see some strange thing just coming along; and strange it was indeed: for we see two men naked from the waist upwards run by us as swift as the wind, and we imagined nothing but that it was two men running a race for some mighty wager. On a sudden we found two long, small ropes or lines, which hung down at first, pulled straight, and the two racers stopped, and stood still, one close by the other. We could not imagine what this meant, but the reader may judge at our surprise when we found a man follow after, who had the ends of both those lines in his hands, and who, when he came up to them, gave each of them two frightful lashes with a wire whip or lash, which he held in the other hand. And then the two poor naked wretches run on again to the length of their line or tether, where they waited for the like salutation; and in this manner they danced the length of the whole street, which is about half-a-mile.

This was a dark prospect to my captain, and put him in mind, not only of what he was to expect if he made a slip in the way of his profession in this place, but also of what he had suffered when he was but a boy, at the famous place called Bridewell.

But this was not all; for, as we saw the execution, so we were curious to examine into the crime too; and we asked a young fellow who stood near us what the two men had done for which they suffered that punishment. The fellow, an unhappy, ill-natured Scotchman, perceived by our speech that we were Englishmen, and by our question that we were strangers, told us, with a malicious wit, that they were two Englishmen, and that they were whipped so for picking pockets, and other petty thieveries, and that they were afterwards to be sent away over the border into England.

Now this was every word of it false, and was only formed by his nimble invention to insult us as Englishmen; for when we inquired further, they were both Scotchmen, and were thus scourged for the usual offences for which we give the like punishment in England. And the man who held the line and scourged them was the city hangman, who (by the way) is there an officer of note, has a constant salary, and is a man of substance; and not only so, but a most dexterous fellow in his office, and makes a great deal of money of his employment.

This sight, however, was very shocking to us; and my captain turned to me: "Come," says he, "let us go away; I won't stay here any longer." I was glad to hear him say so, but did not think he had meant or intended what he said. However, we went back to our quarters, and kept pretty much within, only that in the evenings we walked about. But even then my captain found no employment, no encouragement. Two or three times, indeed, he made a prize of some mercery and millinery goods; but when he had them he knew not what to do with them, so that, in short, he was forced to be honest in spite of his goodwill to be otherwise.

We remained here about a month, when, on a sudden, my captain was gone, horse and all, and I knew nothing what was become of him. Nor did I ever see or hear of him for eighteen months after, nor did he so much as leave the least notice for me, either whither he was gone or whether he would return to Edinburgh again or no.

I took his leaving me very heinously, not knowing what to do with myself, being a stranger in the place; and, on the other hand, my money abated apace too. I had for the most part of this time my horse upon my hands to keep; and as horses yield but a sorry price in Scotland, I found no opportunity to make much of him; and, on the other hand, I had a secret resolution, if I had gone back to England, to have restored him to the owner, at Puckeridge, by Ware. And so I should have wronged him of nothing but the use of him for so long a time; but I found an occasion to answer all my designs about the horse to advantage.

There came a man to the stabler-so they call the people at Edinburgh that take in horses to keep-and wanted to know if he could hear of any returned horses for England. My landlord, so we called him, came bluntly to me one day, and asked me if my horse was my own. It was an odd question, as my circumstances stood, and puzzled me at first; and I asked why, and what was the matter. "Because," says he, "if it be a hired horse in England, as is often the case with Englishmen who come to Scotland, I could help you to send it back, and get you something for riding." So he expressed himself.

I was very glad of the occasion, and, in short, took security there of the person for delivering the horse safe and sound, and had 15s. sterling for the riding him. Upon this agreement, I gave order to leave the horse at the Falcon, at Puckeridge, and where I heard, many years after, that he was honestly left, and that the owner had him again, but had nothing for the loan of him.

Being thus eased of the expense of my horse, and having nothing at all to do, I began to consider with myself what would become of me, and what I could turn my hand to. I had not much diminished my stock of money, for though I was all the way so wary that I would not join with my captain in his desperate attempts, yet I made no scruple to live at his expense, which, as I came out of England only to keep him company, had been but just, had I not known that all he had to spend upon me was what he robbed honest people of, and that I was all that while a receiver of stolen goods. But I was not come off so far then as to scruple that part at all.

In the next place, I was not so anxious about my money running low, because I knew what a reserve I had made at London. But still I was very willing to have engaged in any honest employment for a livelihood, for I was sick indeed of the wandering life which I had led, and was resolved to thieve no more. But then two or three things which I had offered me I lost, because I could not write or read.

This afflicted me a great while very much; but the stabler, as I have called him, delivered me from my anxiety that way by bringing me to an honest but a poor young man, who undertook to teach me both to write and read, and in a little time too, and for a small expense, if I would take pains at it. I promised all possible diligence, and to work I went with it, but found the writing much more difficult to me than the reading.

However, in half a year's time, or thereabouts, I could read, and write too, tolerably well, insomuch that I began to think I was now fit for business. And I got by it into the service of a certain officer of the customs, who employed me for a time; but as he set me to do little but pass and repass between Leeds and Edinburgh, with the accounts which he kept for the farmers of the customs there, leaving me to live at my own expense till my wages should be due, I run out the little money I had left, in clothes and subsistence, and a little before the year's end, when I was to have £12 English money, truly my master was turned out of his place; and, which was worse, having been charged with some misapplications, was obliged to take shelter in England, and so we that were servants, for there were three of us, were left to shift for ourselves.

This was a hard case for me in a strange place, and I was reduced by it to the last extremity. I might have gone for England, an English ship being there. The master proffered me to give me my passage (upon telling him my distress), and to take my word for the payment of 10s. when I came there. But my captain appeared just then under new circumstances, which obliged him not to go away, and I was loth to leave him. It seems we were yet further to take our fate together.

I have mentioned that he left me, and that I saw him no more for eighteen months. His rambles and adventures were many in that time. He went to Glasgow, played some remarkable pranks there, escaped almost miraculously from the gallows; got over to Ireland, wandered about there, turned raparee, and did some villainous things there, and escaped from Londonderry, over to the Highlands in the north of Scotland; and about a month before I was left destitute at Leith by my master, behold! my noble Captain Jacque came in there, on board the ferry-boat from Fife, being, after all adventures and successes, advanced to the dignity of a foot-soldier in a body of recruits raised in the north for the regiment of Douglas.

After my disaster, being reduced almost as low as my captain, I found no better shift before me, at least for the present, than to enter myself a soldier too; and thus we were ranked together, with each of us a musket upon our shoulders; and I confess that thing did not sit so ill upon me as I thought at first it would have done; for though I fared hard and lodged ill (for the last, especially, is the fate of poor soldiers in that part of the world), yet to me that had been used to lodge on the ashes in the glass house, this was no great matter. I had a secret satisfaction at being now under no necessity of stealing, and living in fear of a prison, and of the lash of the hangman-a thing which, from the time I saw it in Edinburgh, was so terrible to me that I could not think of it without horror. And it was an inexpressible ease to my mind that I was now in a certain way of living, which was honest, and which I could say was not unbecoming a gentleman.

Whatever was my satisfaction in that part, yet other circumstances did not equally concur to make this life suit me; for after we had been about six months in this figure, we were informed that the recruits were all to march for England, and to be shipped off at Newcastle, or at Hull, to join the regiment, which was then in Flanders.

I should tell you that, before this, I was extremely delighted with the life of a soldier, and I took the exercise so naturally that the sergeant that taught us to handle our arms, seeing me so ready at it, asked me if I had never carried arms before. I told him no; at which he swore, though jesting. "They call you colonel," says he, "and I believe you will be a colonel, or you must be some colonel's bastard, or you would never handle your arms as you do, at once or twice showing."

This pleased me extremely, and encouraged me, and I was mightily taken with the life of a soldier; but when my captain came and told me the news, that we were to march for England, and to be shipped off for Flanders at Newcastle-upon-Tyne, I was surprised very much, and new thoughts began to come in my mind; as, first, my captain's condition was particular, for he durst not appear publicly at Newcastle, as he must have done if he had marched with the battalion (for they were a body of above four hundred, and therefore called themselves a battalion, though we were but recruits, and belonged to several companies abroad) – I say, he must have marched with them, and been publicly seen, in which case he would have been apprehended and delivered up. In the next place I remembered that I had almost £100 in money in London, and if it should have been asked all the soldiers in the regiment which of them would go to Flanders a private sentinel if they had £100 in their pockets, I believe none of them would answer in the affirmative-£100 being at that time sufficient to buy colours in any new regiment, though not in that regiment, which was on an old establishment. This whetted my ambition, and I dreamt of nothing but being a gentleman officer, as well as a gentleman soldier.

These two circumstances concurring, I began to be very uneasy, and very unwilling in my thoughts to go over a poor musqueteer into Flanders, to be knocked on the head at the tune of 3s. 6d. a week. While I was daily musing on the circumstances of being sent away, as above, and considering what to do, my captain comes to me one evening: "Hark ye, Jacque," says he, "I must speak with you; let us take a walk in the fields a little out from the houses." We were quartered at a place called Park End, near the town of Dunbar, about twenty miles from Berwick-upon-Tweed, and about sixteen miles from the river Tweed, the nearest way.

We walked together here, and talked seriously upon the matter. The captain told me how his case stood, and that he durst not march with the battalion into Newcastle; that if he did he should be taken out of the ranks and tried for his life, and that I knew as well as he. "I could go privately to Newcastle," says he, "and go through the town well enough, but to go publicly is to run into the jaws of destruction." "Well," says I, "that is very true; but what will you do?" "Do!" says he. "Do you think I am so bound by honour, as a gentleman soldier, that I will be hanged for them? No, no," says he; "I am resolved to be gone, and I would have you go with us." Said I, "What do you mean by us?" "Why, here is another honest fellow, an Englishman also," says he, "that is resolved to desert too, and he has been a long while in their service, and says he knows how we shall be used abroad, and he will not go to Flanders, says he, not he."

"Why," says I, "you will be shot to death for deserters if you are taken, and they will send out scouts for you in the morning all over the country, so that you will certainly fall into their hands." "As for that," says he, "my comrade is thoroughly acquainted with the way, and he has undertaken to bring us to the banks of the Tweed before they can come up with us; and when we are on the other side of the Tweed, they can't take us up."

"And when would you go away?" says I.

"This minute," says he; "no time to be lost; 'tis a fine moonshining night."

"I have none of my baggage," says I; "let me go back and fetch my linen and other things."

"Your linen is not much, I suppose," says he, "and we shall easily get more in England the old way."

"No," says I, "no more of your old ways. It has been owing to those old ways that we are now in such a strait."

"Well, well," says he, "the old ways are better than this starving life of a gentleman, as we call it."

"But," says I, "we have no money in our pockets. How shall we travel?"

"I have a little," says the captain, "enough to help us on to Newcastle; and if we can get none by the way, we will get some collier-ship to take us in and carry us to London by sea."

"I like that the best of all the measures you have laid yet," said I; and so I consented to go, and went off with him immediately. The cunning rogue, having lodged his comrade a mile off under the hills, had dragged me by talking with him, by little and little, that way, till just when I consented he was in sight, and he said, "Look, there's my comrade!" who I knew presently, having seen him among the men.

Being thus gotten under the hills, and a mile off the way, and the day just shut in, we kept on apace, resolving, if possible, to get out of the reach of our pursuers before they should miss us or know anything of our being gone.

We plied our time so well and travelled so hard that by five o'clock in the morning, we were at a little village whose name I forget; but they told us that we were within eight miles of the Tweed, and that as soon as we should be over the river we were on English ground.

We refreshed a little here, but marched on with but little stay. However, it was half-an-hour past eight in the morning before we reached the Tweed, so it was at least twelve miles, when they told us it was but eight. Here we overtook two more of the same regiment, who had deserted from Haddington, where another part of the recruits were quartered.

Those were Scotchmen, and very poor, having not one penny in their pockets, and had no more when they made their escape but 8s. between them. And when they saw us, whom they knew to be of the same regiment they took us to be pursuers, and that we came to lay hold of them; upon which they stood upon their defence, having the regiment swords on, as we had also, but none of the mounting or clothing; for we were not to receive the clothing till we came to the regiment in Flanders.

It was not long before we made them understand that we were in the same circumstances with themselves, and so we soon became one company; and after resting some time on the English side of the river (for we were heartily tired, and the others were as much fatigued as we were) – I say, after resting awhile, we set forwards towards Newcastle, whither we resolved to go to get our passage by sea to London; for we had not money to hold us out any farther.

Our money was ebbed very low; for though I had one piece of gold in my pocket, which I kept reserved for the last extremity, yet it was but half-a-guinea, and my captain had bore all our charges as far as his money would go, so that when we came to Newcastle we had but sixpence left in all to help ourselves, and the two Scots had begged their way all along the road.

We contrived to come into Newcastle in the dusk of the evening, and even then we durst not venture into the public part of the town, but made down towards the river, something below the town, where some glass-houses stand. Here we knew not what to do with ourselves; but, guided by our fate, we put a good face upon the matter, and went into an alehouse, sat down, and called for a pint of beer.

The house was kept by a woman only-that is to say, we saw no other; and as she appeared very frank and entertained us cheerfully, we at last told our condition, and asked her if she could not help us to some kind master of a collier that would give us a passage to London by sea. The subtle devil, who immediately found us proper fish for her hook, gave us the kindest words in the world, and told us she was heartily sorry she had not seen us one day sooner; that there was a collier-master, of her particular acquaintance, that went away but with the morning tide; that the ship was fallen down to Shields, but she believed was hardly over the bar yet, and she would send to his house and see if he was gone on board; for sometimes the masters do not go away till a tide after the ship, and she was sure, if he was not gone, she could prevail with him to take us all in; but then she was afraid we must go on board immediately, the same night.

We begged her to send to his house, for we knew not what to do, and if she could oblige him to take us on board, we did not care what time of night it was; for, as we had no money, we had no lodging, and we wanted nothing but to be on board.

We looked upon this as a mighty favour, that she sent to the master's house, and, to our greater joy, she brought us word about an hour after that he was not gone, and was at a tavern in the town, whither his boy had been to fetch him, and that he had sent word he would call there in the way home.

This was all in our favour, and we were extremely pleased with it. About an hour after, the landlady being in the room with us, her maid brings us word the master was below. So down she goes to him, telling us she would go and tell him our case, and see to persuade him to take us all on board. After some time she comes up with him, and brings him into the room to us. "Where are these honest gentlemen soldiers," says he, "that are in such distress?" We stood all up, and paid our respects to him. "Well, gentlemen, and is all your money spent?"

"Indeed it is," said one of our company, "and we shall be infinitely obliged to you, sir, if you will give us a passage. We will be very willing to do anything we can in the ship, though we are not seamen."

"Why," says he, "were none of you ever at sea in your lives?"

"No," says we, "not one of us."

"You will be able to do me no service, then," says he; "for you will be all sick. Well, however," says he, "for my good landlady's sake here, I'll do it; but are you all ready to go on board, for I go on board this very night?"

"Yes, sir," says we again; "we are ready to go this minute."

"No, no," says he very kindly; "we'll drink together. Come, landlady," says he, "make these honest gentlemen a sneaker of punch."

We looked at one another, for we knew we had no money, and he perceived it. "Come, come," says he, "don't be concerned at your having no money; my landlady here and I never part with dry lips. Come, goodwife," says he, "make the punch as I bid you."

We thanked him and said, "God bless you, noble captain," a hundred times over, being overjoyed with such good luck. While we were drinking the punch he calls the landlady: "Come," says he, "I'll step home and take my things, and bid them good-bye, and order the boat to come at high water and take me up here. And pray, goodwife," says he, "get me something for supper. Sure, if I can give these honest men their passage, I may give them a bit of victuals too; it may be they han't had much for dinner."

With this away he went, and in a little while we heard the jack a-going; and one of us, going down stairs for a spy, brought us word there was a good leg of mutton at the fire. In less than an hour our captain came again, and came up to us, and blamed us that we had not drank all the punch out. "Come," says he, "don't be bashful; when that is out we can have another. When I am obliging poor men, I love to do it handsomely."

We drank on, and drank the punch out, and more was brought up, and he pushed it about apace; and then came up a leg of mutton, and I need not say that we ate heartily, being told several times that we should pay nothing. After supper was done he bids my landlady ask if the boat was come. And she brought word no; it was not high water by a good deal. "No!" says he. "Well, then, give us some more punch." So more punch was brought in, and, as was afterwards confessed, something was put into it, or more brandy than ordinary, and by that time the punch was drunk out we were all very drunk; and as for me, I was asleep.

About the time that was out we were told the boat was come; so we tumbled out, almost over one another, into the boat, and away we went, and our captain in the boat. Most of us, if not all, fell asleep, till after some time, though how much or how far going we knew not, the boat stopped, and we were waked and told we were at the ship's side, which was true; and with much help and holding us, for fear we should fall overboard, we were all gotten into the ship. All I remember of it was this, that as soon as we were on board our captain, as we called him, called out thus: "Here, boatswain, take care of these gentlemen, and give them good cabins, and let them turn in and go to sleep, for they are very weary;" and so indeed we were, and very drunk too, being the first time I had ever drank punch in my life.

Well, care was taken of us according to order, and we were put into very good cabins, where we were sure to go immediately to sleep. In the meantime the ship, which was indeed just ready to go, and only on notice given had come to an anchor for us at Shields, weighed, stood over the bar, and went off to sea; and when we waked, and began to peep abroad, which was not till near noon the next day, we found ourselves a great way at sea; the land in sight, indeed, but at a great distance, and all going merrily on for London, as we understood it. We were very well used and well satisfied with our condition for about three days, when we began to inquire whether we were not almost come, and how much longer it would be before we should come into the river. "What river?" says one of the men. "Why, the Thames," says my Captain Jacque. "The Thames!" says the seaman. "What do you mean by that? What, han't you had time enough to be sober yet?" So Captain Jacque said no more, but looked about him like a fool; when, a while after, some other of us asked the like question, and the seaman, who knew nothing of the cheat, began to smell a trick, and turning to the other Englishman that came with us, "Pray," says he, "where do you fancy you are going, that you ask so often about it?" "Why, to London," says he. "Where should we be going? We agreed with the captain to carry us to London." "Not with the captain," says he, "I dare say. Poor men! you are all cheated; and I thought so when I saw you come aboard with that kidnapping rogue Gilliman. Poor men!" adds he, "you are all be trayed. Why, you are going to Virginia, and the ship is bound to Virginia."