“Call for the sack in the morning, will you, for I want to get to bed.”
“With all my heart.”
Then going to a drawer, and bringing the customary fee, “Here, (said he) be quick and be off.” This was exactly what the other wanted; and having secured the rubbish,{1} the door was shut upon him. This, however, was no sooner done, than the Boosy Kid in the sack, feeling a sudden internal turn of the contents of his stomach, which brought with it a heaving, fell, from the upright situation in which he had been placed, on the floor. This so alarmed the young Doctor, that he ran with all speed after the vender, and just coming up to him at the corner of the street.
“Why, (said he) you have left me a living man!”
“Never mind, (replied the other;) kill him when you want him.” And making good use of his heels he quickly disappeared.
A Comedian of some celebrity, but who is now too old for theatrical service, relates a circumstance which occurred to him upon his first arrival in town:—
Having entered into an engagement to appear upon the boards of one of the London Theatres, he sought the metropolis some short time before the opening of the House; and conceiving it necessary to his profession to study life—real life as it is,—he was accustomed to mingle promiscuously in almost all society. With this view he frequently entered the tap rooms of the lowest public houses, to enjoy his pipe and his pint, keeping the main object always in view—
“To catch the manners living as they rise.”
Calling one evening at one of these houses, not far from Drury Lane, he found some strapping fellows engaged in conversation, interlarded with much flash and low slang; but decently dressed, he mingled in a sort of general dialogue with them on the state of the weather, politics, &c. After sitting some time in their company, and particularly noticing their persons and apparent character—
“Come, Bill, it is time to be off, it is getting rather darkish.” “Ah, very well (replied the other,) let us have another quart, and then I am your man for a bit of a lark.” By this time they had learned that the Comedian was but newly arrived in town; and he on the other hand was desirous of seeing what they meant to be up to. After another quart they were about to move, when, said one to the other, “As we are only going to have a stroll and a bit of fun, perhaps that there young man would like to join us.” “Ah, what say you, Sir? have you any objection? but perhaps you have business on hand and are engaged—” “No, I have nothing particular to do,” was the reply. “Very well, then if you like to go with us, we shall be glad of your company.” “Well (said he,) I don't care if I do spend an hour with you.” And with that they sallied forth. After rambling about for some time in the vicinity of Tottenham Court Road, shewing him some of the Squares, &c. describing the names of streets, squares, and buildings, they approached St. Giles's, and leading him under a gateway, “Stop, (said one) we must call upon Jack, you know, for old acquaintance sake,” and gave a loud knock at the door; which being opened without a word, they all walked in, and the door was instantly lock'd. He was now introduced to a man of squalid appearance, with whom they all shook hands: the mode of introduction was not however of so satis-factory a description as had been expected, being very laconic, and conveyed in the following language:—“We have got him.” “Yes, yes, it is all right—come, Jack, serve us out some grog, and then to business.” The poor Comedian in the mean time was left in the utmost anxiety and surprise to form an opinion of his situation; for as he had heard something about trepanning, pressing, &c. he could not help entertaining serious suspicion that he should either be com-pelled to serve as a soldier or a sailor; and as he had no intention “to gain a name in arms,” they were neither of them suitable to his inclinations. “Come,” (said one) walk up stairs and sit down—Jack, bring the lush “—and up stairs they went. Upon entering a gloomy room, somewhat large, with only a small candle, he had not much opportunity of discovering what sort of a place it was, though it looked wretched enough. The grog was brought—“Here's all round the grave- stone, (said one)—come, drink away, my hearty—don't be alarm'd, we are rum fellows, and we'll put you up to a rig or two—we are got a rum covey in the corner there, and you must lend us a hand to get rid of him:” then, holding up the light, what was the surprise of the poor Comedian to espy a dead body of a man—“You can help us to get him away, and by G——you shall, too, it's of no use to flinch now.” A circumstance of this kind was new to him, so that his perplexity was only increased by the discovery; but he plainly perceived by the last declaration, that having engaged in the business, it would be of no use to leave it half done: he therefore remained silent upon the subject, drank his grog, when Jack came up stairs to say the cart was ready. “Lend a hand, (said one of them) let us get our load down stairs—come, my Master, turn to with a good heart, all's right.” With this the body was conveyed down stairs. At the back of the house was a small yard separated from a neighbouring street by a wall—a signal was given by some one on the other side which was understood by those within— it was approaching nine o'clock, and a dark night—“Come, (said one of them,) mount you to the top of the wall, and ding the covey over to the carcass-carter.” This being complied with, the dead body was handed up to him, which was no sooner done than the Carman outside, perceiving the Watchman approach—“It von't do,” said he, and giving a whistle, drove his cart with an assumed air of carelessness away; while the poor Comedian, who had a new character to support, in which he did not conceive himself well up,{1} was holding the dead man on his lap with the legs projecting over the wall; it was a situation of the utmost delicacy and there was no time to recast the part, he was therefore, obliged to blunder through it as well as he could; the perspiration of the living man fell plentifully on the features of the dead as the Charley approached in a position to pass directly under him. Those inside had sought the shelter of the house, telling him to remain quiet till the old Scout was gone by. Now although he was not fully acquainted with the consequences of discovery, he was willing and anxious to avoid them: he therefore took the advice, and scarcely moved or breathed—“Past nine o'clock,” said the Watchman, as he passed under the legs of the dead body without looking up, though he was within an inch of having his castor brushed off by them. Being thus relieved, he was happy to see the cart return; he handed over the unpleasant burthen, and as quick as possible afterwards descended from his elevated situation into the street, determining at all hazards to see the result of this to him extraordinary adventure; with this view he followed the cart at a short distance, keeping his eye upon it as he went along; and in one of the streets leading to Long Acre, he perceived a man endeavouring to look into the back part of the cart, but was diverted from his object by one of the men who had introduced him to the house, while another of the confederates snatched the body from the cart, and ran with all speed down another street in an opposite direction. This movement had attracted the notice of the Watchman, who, being prompt in his movements, had sprung his rattle. Upon this, and feeling himself too heavily laden to secure his retreat, the fellow with the dead man perceiving the gate of an area open, dropped his burden down the steps, slam'd the gate after him, and continued to fly, but was stopped at the end of the street; in the mean time the Charley in pursuit had knock'd at the door of the house where the stolen goods (as he supposed) were deposited. 1 A cant phrase for money. It was kept by an old maiden lady, who, upon discovering the dead body of a man upon her premises, had fainted in the Watchman's arms. The detection of the running Resurrectionist was followed by a walk to the watch-house, where his companions endeavoured to make it appear that they had all been dining at Wandsworth together, that he was not the person against whom the hue and cry had been raised. But old Snoosey{l} said it wouldn't do, and he was therefore detained to appear before the Magistrate in the morning. The Comedian, who had minutely watched their proceedings, took care to be at Bow-street in good time; where he found upon the affidavits of two of his comrades, who swore they had dined together at Wandsworth, their pal was liberated. 1 The Constable of the night.