Paul Clifford — Complete
“The Jolly Angler” written beneath), and a porch that would have been
Grecian if it had not been Dutch. It stood in a little field, with a
hedge behind it, and the common in front. Augustus stopped at the door;
and while he paused, bursts of laughter rang cheerily within.
“Ah, the merry boys!” he muttered; “I long to be with them;” and then
with his clenched fist he knocked four times on the door. There was a
sudden silence which lasted about a minute, and was broken by a voice
within, asking who was there. Tomlinson answered by some cabalistic
word; the door was opened, and a little boy presented himself.
“Well, my lad,” said Augustus, “and how is your master? Stout and
hearty, if I may judge by his voice.”
“Ay, Master Tommy, ay, he's boosing away at a fine rate, in the
back-parlour, with Mr. Pepper and Fighting Attie, and half-a-score more
of them. He'll be woundy glad to see you, I'll be bound.”
“Show this gentleman into the bar,” rejoined Augustus, “while I go and
pay my respects to honest Geordie.”
The boy made a sort of a bow, and leading our hero into the bar,
consigned him to the care of Sal, a buxom barmaid, who reflected
credit on the taste of the landlord, and who received Paul with marked
distinction and a gill of brandy.
Paul had not long to play the amiable, before Tomlinson rejoined him
with the information that Gentleman George would be most happy to see
him in the back-parlour, and that he would there find an old friend in
the person of Mr. Pepper.
“What! is he here?” cried Paul. “The sorry knave, to let me be caged in
his stead!”
“Gently, gently; no misapplication of terms!” said Augustus. “That was
not knavery; that was prudence, the greatest of all virtues, and the
rarest. But come along, and Pepper shall explain to-morrow.”
Threading a gallery or passage, Augustus preceded our hero, opened a
door, and introduced him into a long low apartment, where sat, round a
table spread with pipes and liquor, some ten or a dozen men, while at
the top of the table, in an armchair, presided Gentleman George. That
dignitary was a portly and comely gentleman, with a knowing look, and a
Welsh wig, worn, as the “Morning Chronicle” says of his Majesty's hat,
“in a degage manner, on one side.” Being afflicted with the gout, his
left foot reclined on a stool; and the attitude developed, despite of a
lamb's-wool stocking, the remains of an exceedingly good leg.
As Gentleman George was a person of majestic dignity among the Knights
of the Cross, we trust we shall not be thought irreverent in applying a
few of the words by which the aforesaid “Morning Chronicle” depicted his
Majesty on the day he laid the first stone of his father's monument to
the description of Gentleman George.
“He had on a handsome blue coat and a white waistcoat;” moreover, “he
laughed most good-humouredly,” as, turning to Augustus Tomlinson, he
saluted him with,--
“So this is the youngster you present to us? Welcome to the Jolly
Angler! Give us thy hand, young sir; I shall be happy to blow a cloud
with thee.”
“With all due submission,” said Mr. Tomlinson, “I think it may first be
as well to introduce my pupil and friend to his future companions.”
“You speak like a leary cove,” cried Gentleman George, still squeezing
our hero's hand; and turning round in his elbow-chair, he pointed to
each member, as he severally introduced his guests to Paul.
“Here,” said he,--“here's a fine chap at my right hand” (the person thus
designated was a thin military-looking figure, in a shabby riding-frock,
and with a commanding, bold, aquiline countenance, a little the worse
for wear),--“here's a fine chap for you! Fighting Attie we calls him;
he's a devil on the road. 'Halt,--deliver,--must and shall,--can't and
sha' n't,--do as I bid you, or go to the devil!' That's all Fighting
Attie's palaver; and, 'Sdeath, it has a wonderful way of coming to the
point! A famous cull is my friend Attie,--an old soldier,--has seen the
world, and knows what is what; has lots of gumption, and devil a bit of
blarney. Howsomever, the highflyers does n't like him; and when he takes
people's money, he need not be quite so cross about it. Attie, let me
introduce a new pal to you.” Paul made his bow.
“Stand at ease, man!” quoth the veteran, without taking the pipe from
his mouth.
Gentleman George then continued; and after pointing out four or five of
the company (among whom our hero discovered, to his surprise, his old
friends Mr. Eustace Fitzherbert and Mr. William Howard Russell), came,
at length, to one with a very red face and a lusty frame of body. “That
gentleman,” said he, “is Scarlet Jem; a dangerous fellow for a press,
though he says he likes robbing alone now, for a general press is not
half such a good thing as it used to be formerly. You have no idea what
a hand at disguising himself Scarlet Jem is. He has an old wig which he
generally does business in; and you would not go for to know him again
when he conceals himself under the wig. Oh, he's a precious rogue, is
Scarlet Jem! As for the cove on t' other side,” continued the host of
the Jolly Angler, pointing to Long Ned, “all I can say of him, good,
bad, or indifferent, is that he has an unkimmon fine head of hair; and
now, youngster, as you knows him, s'pose you goes and sits by him, and
he'll introduce you to the rest; for, split my wig!” (Gentleman George
was a bit of a swearer) “if I be n't tired; and so here's to your
health; and if so be as your name's Paul, may you always rob Peter [a
portmanteau] in order to pay Paul!”
This witticism of mine host's being exceedingly well received, Paul
went, amidst the general laughter, to take possession of the vacant
seat beside Long Ned. That tall gentleman, who had hitherto been
cloud-compelling (as Homer calls Jupiter) in profound silence, now
turned to Paul with the warmest cordiality, declared himself overjoyed
to meet his old friend once more, and congratulated him alike on his
escape from Bridewell and his admission to the councils of Gentleman
George. But Paul, mindful of that exertion of “prudence” on the part
of Mr. Pepper by which he had been left to his fate and the mercy of
Justice Burnflat, received his advances very sullenly. This coolness so
incensed Ned, who was naturally choleric, that he turned his back on
our hero, and being of an aristocratic spirit, muttered something about
“upstart, and vulgar clyfakers being admitted to the company of swell
tobymen.” This murmur called all Paul's blood into his cheek; for though
he had been punished as a clyfaker (or pickpocket), nobody knew better
than Long Ned whether or not he was innocent; and a reproach from him
came therefore with double injustice and severity. In his wrath he
seized Mr. Pepper by the ear, and telling him he was a shabby scoundrel,
challenged him to fight.
So pleasing an invitation not being announced sotto voce, but in a tone
suited to the importance of the proposition, every one around heard it;
and before Long Ned could answer, the full voice of Gentleman George
thundered forth,--
“Keep the peace there, you youngster! What! are you just admitted into
our merry-makings, and must you be wrangling already? Harkye, gemmen,
I have been plagued enough with your quarrels before now; and the first
cove as breaks the present quiet of the Jolly Angler shall be turned out
neck and crop,--sha' n't he, Attie?”
“Right about, march!” said the hero.
“Ay, that's the word, Attie,” said Gentleman George. “And now, Mr.
Pepper, if there be any ill blood 'twixt you and the lad there, wash it
away in a bumper of bingo, and let's hear no more whatsomever about it.”
“I'm willing,” cried Long Ned, with the deferential air of a courtier,
and holding out his hand to Paul. Our hero, being somewhat abashed
by the novelty of his situation and the rebuke of Gentleman George,
accepted, though with some reluctance, the proffered courtesy.
Order being thus restored, the conversation of the convivialists began
to assume a most fascinating bias. They talked with infinite gout of
the sums they had levied on the public, and the peculations they had
committed for what one called the good of the community, and another,
the established order,--meaning themselves. It was easy to see in what
school the discerning Augustus Tomlinson had learned the value of words.
There was something edifying in hearing the rascals! So nice was their
language, and so honest their enthusiasm for their own interests, you
might have imagined you were listening to a coterie of cabinet ministers
conferring on taxes or debating on perquisites.
“Long may the Commons flourish!” cried punning Georgie, filling
his glass; “it is by the commons we're fed, and may they never know
cultivation!”
“Three times three!” shouted Long Ned; and the toast was drunk as Mr.
Pepper proposed.
“A little moderate cultivation of the commons, to speak frankly,” said
Augustus Tomlinson, modestly, “might not be amiss; for it would decoy
people into the belief that they might travel safely; and, after all,
a hedge or a barley-field is as good for us as a barren heath, where we
have no shelter if once pursued!”
“You talks nonsense, you spooney!” cried a robber of note, called
Bagshot; who, being aged and having been a lawyer's footboy, was
sometimes denominated “Old Bags.” “You talks nonsense; these innowating
ploughs are the ruin of us. Every blade of corn in a common is an
encroachment on the constitution and rights of the gemmen highwaymen.
I'm old, and may n't live to see these things; but, mark my words, a
time will come when a man may go from Lunnun to Johnny Groat's without
losing a penny by one of us; when Hounslow will be safe, and Finchley
secure. My eyes, what a sad thing for us that'll be!”
The venerable old man became suddenly silent, and the tears started
to his eyes. Gentleman George had a great horror of blue devils, and
particularly disliked all disagreeable subjects.
“Thunder and oons, Old Bags!” quoth mine host of the Jolly Angler, “this
will never do; we're all met here to be merry, and not to listen to your
mullancolly taratarantarums. I says, Ned Pepper, s'pose you tips us a
song, and I'll beat time with my knuckles.”
Long Ned, taking the pipe from his mouth, attempted, like Walter
Scott's Lady Heron, one or two pretty excuses; these being drowned by a
universal shout, the handsome purloiner gave the following song, to the
tune of “Time has not thinned my flowing hair.”
LONG NED'S SONG.
Oh, if my hands adhere to cash,
My gloves at least are clean,
And rarely have the gentry flash
In sprucer clothes been seen.
Sweet Public, since your coffers must
Afford our wants relief,
Oh! soothes it not to yield the dust
To such a charming thief?
“'And John may laugh at mine,'--excellent!” cried Gentleman George,
lighting his pipe, and winking at Attie; “I hears as how you be a famous
fellow with the lasses.”
Ned smiled and answered, “No man should boast; but--” Pepper paused
significantly, and then glancing at Attie, said, “Talking of lasses,
it is my turn to knock down a gentleman for a song, and I knock down
Fighting Attie.”
“I never sing,” said the warrior.
“Treason, treason!” cried Pepper. “It is the law, and you must obey the
law; so begin.”
“It is true, Attie,” said Gentleman George.
There was no appeal from the honest publican's fiat; so, in a quick and
laconic manner, it being Attie's favourite dogma that the least said is
the soonest mended, the warrior sung as follows:--
FIGHTING ATTIE'S SONG.
Air: “He was famed for deeds of arms.”