At this moment a Street-keeper made way through the crowd, and Tom and Bob keeping close in his rear, came directly up to the principal performers in this interesting scene, and found honest Pat Murphy holding the man by his collar, while he was twisting and writhing to get released from the strong and determined grasp of the athletic Hibernian.
Pat no sooner saw our Heroes, than he burst out with a lusty “Arroo! arroo! there's the sweet-looking jontleman that's been robbed by a dirty spalpeen that's not worth the tail of a rotten red-herring. I'll give charge of dis here pick'd bladebone of a dead donkey that walks about in God's own daylight, dirting his fingers wid what don't belong to him at all at all. So sure as the devil's in his own house, and that's London, you've had your pocket pick'd, my darling, and that's news well worth hearing”—addressing himself to Dashall.
By this harangue it was pretty clearly understood that Murphy had been in pursuit of the pickpocket, and Tom immediately gave charge.
The man, however, continued to declare he was not the right person—“That, so help him G——d, the Irishman had got the wrong bull by the tail—that he was a b——dy snitch{2} and that he would sarve him out{3}—that he wished
1 Brush—Be off. 2 Snitch—A term made use of by the light-fingered tribe, to signify an informer, by whom they have been impeached or betrayed—So a person who turns king's evidence against his accomplices is called a Snitch. 3 Serve him out—To punish, or be revenged upon any person for any real or supposed injury.
he might meet him out of St. Giles's, and he would wake{ 1} him with an Irish howl.”
1 Wake with an Irish howl—An Irish Wake, which is no unfrequent occurrence in the neighbourhood of St. Giles's and Saffron Hill, is one of the most comically serious ceremonies which can well be conceived, and certainly baffles all powers of description. It is, however, considered indispensable to wake the body of a de-ceased native of the sister kingdom, which is, by a sort of mock lying in state, to which all the friends, relatives, and fellow countrymen and women, of the dead person, are indiscriminately admitted; and among the low Irish this duty is frequently performed in a cellar, upon which occasions the motley group of assembled Hibernians would form a subject for the pencil of the most able satirist. Upon one of these occasions, when Murtoch Mulrooney, who had suffered the sentence of the law by the common hangman, for a footpad robbery, an Englishman was induced by a friend of the deceased to accompany him, and has left on record the following account of his entertainment:— “When we had descended (says he) about a dozen steps, we found ourselves in a subterraneous region, but fortunately not uninhabited. On the right sat three old bawds, drinking whiskey and smoking tobacco out of pipes about two inches long, (by which means, I conceive, their noses had become red,) and swearing and blasting between each puff. I was immediately saluted by one of the most sober of the ladies, and invited to take a glass of the enlivening nectar, and led to the bed exactly opposite the door, where Murtoch was laid out, and begged to pray for the repose of his precious shoul. This, however, I declined, alleging that as the parsons were paid for praying, it was their proper business. At this moment a coarse female voice exclaimed, in a sort of yell or Irish howl, 'Arrah! by Jasus, and why did you die, honey?—Sure enough it was not for the want of milk, meal, or tatoes.' “In a remote corner of the room, or rather cellar, sat three draymen, five of his majesty's body guards, four sailors, six haymakers, eight chairmen, and six evidence makers, together with three bailiffs' followers, who came by turns to view the body, and take a drop of the cratur to drink repose to the shoul of their countryman; and to complete the group, they were at-tended by the journeyman Jack Ketch. The noise and confusion were almost stupefying—there were praying—swearing—crying-howling—smoking—and drinking. “At the head of the bed where the remains of Murtoch were laid, was the picture of the Virgin Mary on one side, and that of St. Patrick on the other; and at the feet was depicted the devil and some of his angels, with the blood running down their backs, from the flagellations which they had received from the disciples of Ketigern. Whether the blue devils were flying around or not, I could not exactly discover, but the whiskey and blue ruin were evidently powerful in their effects. “One was swearing—a second counting his beads—a third descanting on the good qualities of his departed friend, and about to try those of the whiskey—a fourth evacuating that load with which he had already overloaded himself—a fifth, declaring he could carry a fare, hear mass, knock down a member of parliament, murder a peace officer, and after all receive a pension: and while the priest was making an assignation with a sprightly female sprig of Shelalah, another was jonteelly picking his pocket. I had seen enough, and having no desire to continue in such company, made my escape with as much speed as I could from this animated group of persons, assembled as they were upon so solemn an occasion.”
With conversation of this kind, the party were amused up St. Martin's lane, and on the remainder of the road to Bow-street, followed by many persons, some of whom pretended to have seen a part of the proceedings, and promised to give their evidence before the magistrate, who was then sitting.
On arriving in Bow Street, they entered the Brown Bear,{1} a public-house, much frequented by the officers, and in which is a strong-room for the safe custody of prisoners, where they were shewn into a dark back-parlour, as they termed it, and the officer proceeded to search the man in custody, when lo and behold! the handkerchief was not to be found about him.
Pat d——d the devil and all his works—swore “by the fiery furnace of Beelzebub, and that's the devil's own bed-chamber, that was the man that nibbled the Jontleman's dive,{2} and must have ding'd away the wipe,{3} or else what should he bolt{4} for?—that he was up to the rum slum,{5}