A Set of Rogues Read online

  A SET OF ROGUES

  NAMELY

  CHRISTOPHER SUTTON, JOHN DAWSON, THE SENOR DON SANCHEZ DEL CASTILLO DECASTELANA AND MOLL DAWSON

  Their Wicked Conspiracy, and a True Account of their Travels andAdventures

  THE MARRIAGE OF MOLL DAWSON BY SINFUL MEANS TO A WORTHY GENTLEMAN OFMERIT; HER FALL, REMORSE AND GREAT SORROW; HER SECOND EXPEDITION WITHHER FORMER ROGUISH COMPANIONS INTO STRANGE PLACES

  HER ATONEMENT TO MR. RICHARD GODWIN (WHEREBY SHE RENDERS UP ALL SHE EVERHAD OF HIM AND MORE) AND SELLING OF HERSELF TO ALGERINE PIRATES ANDGOING INTO BARBARY A SLAVE; TOGETHER WITH THE TRIBULATIONS OF THOSE WHOLED HER TO WRONG DOING, AND MANY OTHER SURPRISING THINGS NOW DISCLOSEDFOR THE FIRST TIME AS THE FAITHFUL CONFESSION OF CHRISTOPHER SUTTON

  BY

  FRANK BARRETT

  1895

  "'GIVE ME THY HAND, CHILD,' SAYS HE."]

  CHAPTER I.

  _Of my companions and our adversities, and in particular from ourgetting into the stocks at Tottenham Cross to our being robbed atEdmonton._

  There being no plays to be acted at the "Red Bull," because of thePlague, and the players all cast adrift for want of employment, certainof us, to wit, Jack Dawson and his daughter Moll, Ned Herring, andmyself, clubbed our monies together to buy a store of dresses, paintedcloths, and the like, with a cart and horse to carry them, and thusprovided set forth to travel the country and turn an honest penny, inthose parts where the terror of pestilence had not yet turned men'sstomachs against the pleasures of life. And here, at our setting out,let me show what kind of company we were. First, then, for our master,Jack Dawson, who on no occasion was to be given a second place; he was ahale, jolly fellow, who would eat a pound of beef for his breakfast(when he could get it), and make nothing of half a gallon of aletherewith,--a very masterful man, but kindly withal, and pleasant tolook at when not contraried, with never a line of care in his face,though turned of fifty. He played our humorous parts, but he had a sweetvoice for singing of ditties, and could fetch a tear as readily as alaugh, and he was also exceeding nimble at a dance, which was thestrangest thing in the world, considering his great girth. Wife he hadnone, but Moll Dawson was his daughter, who was a most sprightly, merrylittle wench, but no miracle for beauty, being neither child nor womanat this time; surprisingly thin, as if her frame had grown out ofproportion with her flesh, so that her body looked all arms and legs,and her head all mouth and eyes, with a great towzled mass of chestnuthair, which (off the stage) was as often as not half tumbled over hershoulder. But a quicker little baggage at mimicry (she would play anypart, from an urchin of ten to a crone of fourscore), or a livelier atdancing of Brantles or the single Coranto never was, I do think, and asmerry as a grig. Of Ned Herring I need only here say that he was themost tearing villain imaginable on the stage, and off it the mostcivil-spoken, honest-seeming young gentleman. Nor need I trouble to givea very lengthy description of myself; what my character was will appearhereafter, and as for my looks, the less I say about them, the better.Being something of a scholar and a poet, I had nearly died ofstarvation, when Jack Dawson gave me a footing on the stage, where Iwould play the part of a hero in one act, a lacquey in the second, and amerry Andrew in the third, scraping a tune on my fiddle to fill up theintermedios.

  We had designed to return to London as soon as the Plague abated, unlesswe were favoured with extraordinary good fortune, and so, when we heardthat the sickness was certainly past, and the citizens recovering oftheir panic, we (being by this time heartily sick of our venture, whichat the best gave us but beggarly recompense) set about to retrace oursteps with cheerful expectations of better times. But coming to Oxford,we there learned that a prodigious fire had burnt all London down, fromthe Tower to Ludgate, so that if we were there, we should find no houseto play in. This lay us flat in our hopes, and set us again to ourvagabond enterprise; and so for six months more we scoured the countryin a most miserable plight, the roads being exceedingly foul, and folksmore humoured of nights to drowse in their chimnies than to sit in adraughty barn and witness our performances; and then, about the middleof February we, in a kind of desperation, got back again to London, onlyto find that we must go forth again, the town still lying in ruins, andno one disposed to any kind of amusement, except in high places, wheresuch actors as we were held in contempt. So we, with our hearts in ourboots, as one may say, set out again to seek our fortunes on theCambridge road, and here, with no better luck than elsewhere, for atTottenham Cross we had the mischance to set fire to the barn wherein wewere playing, by a candle falling in some loose straw, whereby we didinjury to the extent of some shilling or two, for which the farmer wouldhave us pay a pound, and Jack Dawson stoutly refusing to satisfy hisdemand he sends for the constable, who locks us all up in the cage thatnight, to take us before the magistrate in the morning. And we found toour cost that this magistrate had as little justice as mercy in hiscomposition; for though he lent a patient ear to the farmer's case, hewould not listen to Jack Dawson's argument, which was good enough, beingto the effect that we had not as much as a pound amongst us, and that hewould rather be hanged than pay it if he had; and when Ned Herring(seeing the kind of Puritanical fellow he was) urged that, since thedamage was not done by any design of ours, it must be regarded as avisitation of Providence, he says: "Very good. If it be the will ofProvidence that one should be scourged, I take it as the Divine purposethat I should finish the business by scourging the other"; and therewithhe orders the constable to take what money we have from our pockets andclap us in the stocks till sundown for payment of the difference. So inthe stocks we three poor men were stuck for six mortal hours, which wasa wicked, cruel thing indeed, with the wind blowing a sort of rainy snowabout our ears; and there I do think we must have perished of cold andvexation but that our little Moll brought us a sheet for a cover, andtired not in giving us kind words of comfort.

  At five o'clock the constable unlocked us from our vile confinement, andI do believe we should have fallen upon him and done him a mischief forhis pains there and then, but that we were all frozen as stiff as stoneswith sitting in the cold so long, and indeed it was some time ere wecould move our limbs at all. However, with much ado, we hobbled on atthe tail of our cart, all three very bitter, but especially Ned Herring,who cursed most horridly and as I had never heard him curse off thestage, saying he would rather have stayed in London to carry links forthe gentry than join us again in this damnable adventure, etc. And thatwhich incensed him the more was the merriment of our Moll, who, seatedon the side of the cart, could do nothing better than make sport of ourdiscontent. But there was no malice in her laughter, which, if it sprangnot from sheer love of mischief, arose maybe from overflowing joy at ourrelease.

  Coming at dusk to Edmonton, and finding a fine new inn there, called the"Bell," Jack Dawson leads the cart into the yard, we following without aword of demur, and, after putting up our trap, into the warm parlour wego, and call for supper as boldly as you please. Then, when we had eatenand drunk till we could no more, all to bed like princes, which, after anight in the cage and a day in the stocks, did seem like a veryparadise. But how we were to pay for this entertainment not one of usknew, nor did we greatly care, being made quite reckless by ournecessities. It was the next morning, when we met together at breakfast,that our faces betrayed some compunctions; but these did not prevent useating prodigiously. "For," whispers Ned Herring, "if we are to behanged, it may as well be for a sheep as a lamb." However, Jack Dawson,getting on the right side of the landlord, who seemed a very honest,decent man for an innkeeper, agreed with him that we should give aperformance that night in a cart-shed very proper to our purpose, givinghim half of our taking in payment of our entertainment. This did Jack,thinking from our late ill-luck we should get at the most a dozen
peoplein the sixpenny benches, and a score standing at twopence a head. But itturned out, as the cunning landlord had foreseen, that our hanger waspacked close to the very door, in consequence of great numbers coming tothe town in the afternoon to see a bull baited, so that when Jack Dawsonclosed the doors and came behind our scene to dress for his part, hetold us he had as good as five pounds in his pocket. With that to cheerus we played our tragedy of "The Broken Heart" very merrily, and afterthat, changing our dresses in a twinkling, Jack Dawson, disguised as awild man, and Moll as a wood nymph, came on to the stage to dance apastoral, whilst I, in the fashion of a satyr, stood on one side plyingthe fiddle to their footing. Then, all being done, Jack thanks thecompany for their indulgence, and bids 'em good-night.

  And now, before all the company are yet out of the place, and while JackDawson is wiping the sweat from his face, comes the landlord, and askspretty bluntly to be paid his share of our earnings.

  "Well," says Jack, in a huff, "I see no reason for any such haste; butif you will give me time to put on my breeches, you shall be paid allthe same." And therewith he takes down his trunks from the nail wherethey hung. And first giving them a doubtful shake, as seeming lighterthan he expected, and hearing no chink of money, he thrusts his handinto one pocket, and then into the other, and cries in dismay: "Heaven'smercy upon us; we are robbed! Every penny of our money is gone!"

  "Can you think of nothing better than such an idle story as that?" saysthe landlord. "There hath been none behind this sheet but yourselves allthe night."

  We could make no reply to this, but stood gaping at each other in a mazefor some seconds; then Jack Dawson, recovering his wits, turns himround, and looking about, cries: "Why, where's Ned Herring?"

  "If you mean him as was killed in your play," says the landlord, "I'llanswer for it he's not far off; for, to my knowledge, he was in thehouse drinking with a man while you were a-dancing of your antics like afool. And I only hope you may be as honest a man as he, for he paid forhis liquor like a gentleman."

  That settled the question, for we knew the constable had left never apenny in his pocket when he clapt us in the stocks.

  "Well," says Jack, "he has our money, as you may prove by searching us,and if you have faith in him 'tis all as one, and you may rest easy foryour reckoning being paid against his return."

  The landlord went off, vowing he would take the law of us if he were notpaid by the morning; and we, as soon as we had shuffled on our clothes,away to hunt for Ned, thinking that maybe he had made off with the moneyto avoid paying half to the landlord, and hoping always that, though hemight play the rogue with him, he would deal honestly by us. But wecould find no trace of him, though we visited every alehouse in thetown, and so back we go, crestfallen, to the Bell, to beg the innkeeperto give us a night's lodging and a crust of bread on the speculationthat Ned would come back and settle our accounts; but he would notlisten to our prayers, and so, hungry and thirsty, and miserable beyondexpression, we were fain to make up with a loft over the stables, where,thanks to a good store of sweet hay, we soon forgot our troubles insleep, but not before we had concerted to get away in the morningbetimes to escape another day in the stocks.

  Accordingly, before the break of day, we were afoot, and afternoiselessly packing our effects in the cart in the misty grey light,Jack Dawson goes in the stable to harness our nag, while I as silentlytake down the heavy bar that fastened the yard gate. But while I was yetfumbling at the bolts, and all of a shake for fear of being caught inthe act, Jack Dawson comes to me, with Moll holding of his hand, as shewould when our troubles were great, and says in a tone of despair:

  "Give over, Kit. We are all undone again. For our harness is stole, andthere's never another I can take in its place."

  While we were at this stumble, out comes our landlord to make sport ofus. "Have you found your money yet, friends?" says he, with a sneer.

  "No," says Jack, savagely, "and our money is not all that we have lost,for some villain has filched our nag's harness, and I warrant you knowwho he is."

  "Why, to be sure," returns the other, "the same friend may have taken itwho has gone astray with your other belongings; but, be that as it may,I'll answer for it when your money is found your harness will beforthcoming, and not before."

  "Come, Master," says I, "have you no more heart than to make merry atthe mischances of three poor wretches such as we?"

  "Aye," says he, "when you can show that you deserve better treatment."

  "Done," says Jack. "I'll show you that as quickly as you please." Withthat he whips off his cap, and flinging it on the ground, cries: "Offwith your jacket, man, and let us prove by such means as Heaven hasgiven all which is the honester of us two." And so he squares himself upto fight; but the innkeeper, though as big a man as he, being of aspongy constitution, showed no relish for this mode of argument, andturning his back on us with a shake of the head, said he was very wellsatisfied of his own honesty, and if we doubted it we could seek whatsatisfaction the law would give us, adding slyly, as he turned at thedoor, that he could recommend us a magistrate of his acquaintance,naming him who had set us in the stocks at Tottenham Cross.

  The very hint of this put us again in a quake, and now, the snowbeginning to fall pretty heavily, we went into the shed to cast about asto what on earth we should do next. There we sat, glum and silent,watching idly the big flakes of snow fluttering down from the leadensky, for not one of us could imagine a way out of this hobble.

  "Holy Mother!" cries Jack at length, springing up in a passion, "wecannot sit here and starve of cold and hunger. Cuddle up to my arm,Moll, and do you bring your fiddle, Kit, and let us try our lucka-begging in alehouses."

  And so we trudged out into the driving snow, that blinded us as wewalked, bow our heads as we might, and tried one alehouse after theother, but all to no purpose, the parlours being empty because of theearly hour, and the snow keeping folks within doors; only, about midday,some carters, who had pulled up at an inn, took pity on us, and gave usa mug of penny ale and half a loaf, and that was all the food we had thewhole miserable day. Then at dusk, wet-footed and fagged out in mind andbody, we trudged back to the Bell, thinking to get back into the loftand bury ourselves in the sweet hay for warmth and comfort. But cominghither, we found our nag turned out of the stable and the door locked,so that we were thrown quite into despair by the loss of this last poorhope, and poor Moll, turning her face away from us, burst outa-crying--she who all day had set us a brave example by her cheerfulmerry spirit.