Then I asked her who that was who was robbed with her. She said it was a servant-maid that lived then in the town, but she was gone from her place, and she did not know where she lived now. “Well, dame,” says I, “if ever you do hear of her, let her leave word where she may be found; and if I live to come and see you again, I will get the money off him for her too. I think that was but little, was it?” “No,” says she; “it was but 5s. 6d.,” which I knew as well as she. “Well,” says I, “dame, inquire her out if you have an opportunity;” so she promised me she would, and away I came.
The satisfaction this gave me was very much; but then a natural consequence attended it, which filled me with reflection afterwards; and this was, that, by the same rule, I ought to make restitution to all that I had wronged in the like manner; and what could I do as to that? To this I knew not what to say, and so the thought in time wore off; for, in short, it was impossible to be done. I had not ability, neither did I know any of the people whom I had so injured; and that satisfying me for the present, I let it drop.
I come now to my journey with Captain Jacque, my supposed brother. We set out from London on foot, and travelled the first day to Ware; for we had learnt so much of our road that the way lay through that town. We were weary enough the first day, having not been used at all to travelling; but we made shift to walk once up and down the town after we came into it.
I soon found that his walking out to see the town was not to satisfy his curiosity in viewing the place, for he had no notion of anything of that kind, but to see if he could light of any purchase. For he was so natural a thief that he could see nothing on the road but it occurred to him how easily that might be taken, and how cleverly this might be carried off, and the like.
Nothing offered in Ware to his mind, it not being market-day; and as for me, though I made no great scruple of eating and drinking at the cost of his roguery, yet I resolved not to enter upon anything, as they called it, nor to take the least thing from anybody.
When the captain found me resolved upon the negative, he asked me how I thought to travel. I asked him what he thought of himself, that was sure to be hanged if he was taken, how small soever the crime was that he should be taken for. “How can that be?” says he; “they don’t know me in the country.” “Ay,” says I; “but do you think they do not send up word to Newgate as soon as any thief is taken in the country, and so inquire who is escaped from them, or who is fled, that they may be stopped? Assure yourself,” says I, “the gaolers correspond with one another, with the greatest exactness imaginable; and if you were taken here but for stealing a basket of eggs, you shall have your accuser sent down to see if he knows you.”
This terrified him a little for a while, and kept him honest for three or four days; but it was but for a few days indeed, for he played a great many rogue’s tricks without me; till at last he came to his end without me too, though it was not till many years after, as you shall hear in its order. But as these exploits are no part of my story, but of his, whose life and exploits are sufficient to make a volume larger than this by itself, so I shall omit every thing but what I was particularly concerned in during this tedious journey.
From Ware we travelled to Cambridge, though that was not our direct road. The occasion was this: in our way, going through a village called Puckeridge, we baited at an inn, at the sign of the Falcon, and while we were there a countryman comes to the inn, and hangs his horse at the door while he goes in to drink. We sat in the gateway, having called for a mug of beer, and drank it up. We had been talking with the hostler about the way to Scotland, and he had bid us ask the road to Royston. “But,” says he, “there is a turning just here a little farther. You must not go that way, for that goes to Cambridge.”
We had paid for our beer, and sat at the door only to rest us, when on the sudden comes a gentleman’s coach to the door, and three or four horsemen. The horsemen rode into the yard, and the hostler was obliged to go in with them. Says he to the captain, “Young man, pray take hold of the horse” (meaning the countryman’s horse I mentioned above), “and take him out of the way, that the coach may come up.” He did so, and beckoned me to follow him. We walked together to the turning. Says he to me, “Do you step before and turn up the lane. I’ll overtake you.” So I went on up the lane, and in a few minutes he was got up upon the horse and at my heels. “Come, get up,” says he; “we will have a lift, if we don’t get the horse by the bargain.”
I made no difficulty to get up behind him, and away we went at a good round rate, it being a good strong horse. We lost no time for an hour’s riding and more, by which time we thought we were out of the reach of being pursued. And as the country man, when he should miss his horse, would hear that we inquired the way to Royston, he would certainly pursue us that way, and not towards Cambridge. We went easier after the first hour’s riding, and coming through a town or two, we alighted by turns, and did not ride double through the villages.