A GENTLEMAN OF THE ROAD.
Many years ago, or, as children’s stories say, ‘once upon a time,’ when Bath was in all its glory, and Beau Nash reigned as its king, two ladies were journeying towards that fashionable town in a postchaise. Why two middle-aged ladies should in those unsafe times have undertaken a journey without any male escort, I cannot say; the result proved that they were very ill advised in doing so. It was broad daylight, and not very far from Bath, when the postboy suddenly pulled up the horses, and the chaise-door was thrown open from without with the usual stern command: ‘Your money, or your life!’
I need hardly say anything as to the state of terror into which the ladies immediately fell; no doubt they screamed, in spite of the uselessness of such a proceeding; but it is not upon record that they fainted. On the contrary, the one nearest to the door submissively handed her watch, purse, trinkets, &c., to the masked highwayman; and the other, a Mrs C., was hastily preparing to get rid of her valuables in the same way, when the robber turned to remount his horse, as though he had overlooked the second occupant of the carriage.
Such an unbusiness-like proceeding certainly did not bespeak him an accomplished ‘gentleman of the road;’ for in those days the search for valuables was usually conducted in a thorough and energetic manner, often accompanied with more or less violence, especially if the searcher had reason to suspect that the notes were ‘sham Abrams,’ or the watches from the manufactory of Mr Pinchbeck.
By the way, do any of the present generation know the term of ‘Pinchbeck’ for sham-gold? and if any of them do, are they aware how the term arose? To meet violence with craft, the travellers of those days provided themselves very frequently with false bank-notes and imitation gold watches, to be given up as booty, while the genuine articles were carefully hidden; and a Mr Pinchbeck started a manufactory of these watches. But the ‘gentlemen of the road’ soon got up to this trick, and to prevent such mistakes, they insisted on their victims taking solemn oaths as to the notes being those genuinely signed by ‘Abraham Newland,’ the cashier of the Bank of England; and also that the watches had not been supplied by Mr Pinchbeck.
What passed through Mrs C.’s mind as the highwayman turned away with only half his spoil, it is impossible to say. Perhaps it occurred to her that he might find out his mistake, come back, and take vengeance on them for their involuntary deception. Or perhaps she never thought at all, but acted on a terror-struck impulse. I do not suppose that she herself ever knew why she acted as she did, but she actually called to the highwayman to come back!
‘Stop, stop!’ she cried; ‘you have not got my watch and purse!’
The ‘gentleman of the road’ came back again to the chaise-door, and held out his hand for the watch and purse which Mrs C. seemed so anxious to get rid of. But that watch and purse had unknowingly been the bait of something very like a trap; at anyrate, the turning back was a fatal move, for as the robber turned quickly to relieve Mrs C. of her valuables, the quick movement of his head, or a passing puff of wind, blew aside his crape-mask for a moment, and Mrs C. saw his face distinctly.
When the ladies arrived at Bath, they were condoled with by their friends on their fright and their loss; and no doubt Mrs C. had to stand a good deal of joking about her kindly calling the highwayman back to take her own watch and purse. But such occurrences were too common for the condolences to be deep or long continued, or to cause interference on the part of any one whose duty it might have been to attend to the peace and safety of the public; and the ‘nine days’ wonder’—if it continued so long—certainly did not last any longer.
I am inclined to think, however, that Mrs C. kept her own counsel as to one result of that calling back, and told no one of her having seen the robber’s face unmasked.
Some weeks had passed away, when one evening Mrs C. was at the Assembly Rooms, together with all ‘the rank and fashion’ of Bath. She was talking to a friend, a gentleman named Mr M., and at the same time surveying the ladies and gentlemen who frequented the Assembly, when she suddenly exclaimed: ‘There’s the man who robbed me!’
‘Where?’ asked Mr M., in great astonishment.
Mrs C. pointed to a fashionably dressed young man who was talking to some of the company.
‘My dear Mrs C.,’ said Mr M., ‘pray, be more careful. You really must not bring such an accusation as this against that gentleman. Why, he is young H., son of Mr H. of ——, a very wealthy and well-known man; and young H. is in all the best company. I know him well as a friend.’ This was said in a joking manner, as Mr M. thought that Mrs C. was making an absurd mistake, deceived perhaps by some slight, or even fancied, resemblance.
But Mrs C. said seriously: ‘I do not care who he is, or what his father is, or even as to his being a friend of yours. That is the man who robbed me! I am quite certain about him, for when he turned back to take my purse and watch, his crape-mask blew aside, and I distinctly saw his face. I remember it perfectly.’
Mr M. again tried to persuade her that she was mistaken; but to no purpose. Still trying to make a joke of her supposed extraordinary delusion, he said to Mrs C.: ‘I will bring him here, and introduce him to you, and then see if you will still assert he is a highwayman!’ Before she could decline the introduction, Mr M. crossed the room to where the young man was standing, and said with a smile: ‘Here’s a joke, H. That lady over there declares you are a highwayman, and that you are the man who robbed her a few weeks since! Come and be introduced to her.’
But young H. did not take the joke as his friend meant it; on the contrary, he answered in rather an ill-tempered manner: ‘I do not want to be introduced to the old fool!’
‘Well,’ said Mr M., ‘you need not have taken it in that way, and lost your temper about such a trifle. Of course I was only in fun. I thought you would have enjoyed the joke, and tried to persuade her that you were an honest man, and not a gentleman of the road. Pray, do not be offended.’ So saying, Mr M. returned to Mrs C., and reported that the young gentleman had taken the joke in ill part, and refused to be introduced to her.
Once more Mrs C. declared it was neither a joke nor a mistake, but that in serious fact young H. was the highwayman whom she had called back to take her watch and purse. The subject was then allowed to drop; and after a little conversation on other matters, Mr M. took his leave of Mrs C., with the intention of smoothing the matter over with his friend H., as he did not want their friendship to be interrupted, and he had clearly seen that Mr H. was much annoyed. With this friendly intention he looked about in the Assembly Rooms for young Mr H., but without success. He then inquired of some mutual friends, and was told that young Mr H. had left the Rooms almost directly after he, Mr M., had last spoken to him, and had seemed much annoyed and disturbed.
This account made Mr M. all the more anxious to find his friend and put the matter right with him. Leaving the Rooms, Mr M. looked in at their club, and at two or three other places where he thought it likely he might find Mr H. But his search was unsuccessful; and he had to go home without seeing his friend, comforting himself with the thought that he would next day call on Mr H. at his father’s house, where he lived.
But next day young H. was not at his father’s; nor indeed did he ever again appear in Bath. When he left the Assembly Rooms, he returned home, changed his dress, and at once left Bath, and—it was supposed—left England also at the earliest opportunity.
Of the grief and agony of his father and of his family, I will not speak; it can easily be imagined what distress and shame they suffered.
Mr H., the father, was a wealthy man, of good position and family; but the young man, an only son, brought up to no profession, but only to inherit his father’s riches, had fallen, probably from sheer want of employment, into bad company, had played for very high stakes—lost—played again—exhausted his father’s patience in paying his debts, and at last had ‘taken to the road’ to replenish his purse—a not very uncommon proceeding in those days—while at the same time keeping his place in society.
From his unbusiness-like haste and want of looking after the whole of the booty, in the case of Mrs C. and her friend, it is to be presumed that he had only lately adopted the practice of—as it was politely called—‘collecting his rents on the road,’ even if it was not his first attempt. How long, however, he might have continued the ‘collection,’ but for the accident of the mask having been blown aside, is another question.
If this were fiction, I might enlarge on young H.’s future career in another land. I might, on the one hand, make him go from bad to worse, and end his career by murder and a murderer’s death. Or, on the other hand, I might depict him as leading a new life in a new country, and eventually returning to England, to the joy and comfort of his family, and worthily inheriting his father’s wealth and position. I might even describe his penitent introduction to Mrs C., and his deep gratitude to her for checking him in his downward career; and still further might end the romance by his falling in love with, and marrying Mrs C.’s daughter. But romance is denied to me, for the story is not fiction, but fact in all its details. Mrs C. was an ancestress of the writer’s, and the story has been handed down in the family.
Being, therefore, obliged to keep to facts, I am compelled to admit that I know nothing as to young H.’s after-life; so I must close my true history by supposing that he was never again heard of in his native country for good or evil, after his detection by Mrs C. as ‘a gentleman of the road.’