Meanwhile Jack's own behaviour was grand.I was the proudest woman in England as I stood by his side in the dock.When you compared him with Sir John Fielding,you did not doubt for an instant which was the finer gentleman.And what a dandy was my Jack!Though he came there to answer for his life,he was all ribbons and furbelows.His irons were tied up with the daintiest blue bows,and in the breast of his coat he carried a bundle of flowers as large as a birchbroom.His neck quivered in the noose,yet he was never cowed to civility.`I know no more of the matter than you do,'he cried indignantly,`nor half so much neither,'and if the magistrate had not been an illmannered oaf,he would not have dared to disbelieve my truehearted Jack.That time we escaped with whole skins;and off we went,after dinner,to Vauxhall,where Jack was more noticed than the fiercest of the bloods,and where he filled the heart of George Barrington with envy.Nor was he idle,despite his recent escape:he brought away two watches and three purses from the Garden,so that our necessities were amply supplied.Ah,I should have been happy in those days if only Jack had been faithful.But he had a roving eye and a joyous temperament;and though he loved me better than any of the baggages to whom he paid court,he would not visit me so often as he should.Why,once he was hustled off to Bow Street because the watch caught him climbing in at Doll Frampton's window.And she,the shameless minx,got him off by declaring in open court that she would be proud to receive him whenever he would deign to ring at her bell.That is the penalty of loving a great man:you must needs share his affection with a set of unworthy wenches.Yet Jack was always kind to me,and Iwas the chosen companion of his pranks.
`Never can I forget the splendid figure he cut that day at Bagnigge Wells.We had driven down in our coach,and all the world marvelled at our magnificence.Jack was brave in a scarlet coat,a tambour waistcoat,and white silk stockings.From the knees of his breeches streamed the strings (eight at each),whence he got his name,and as he plucked off his lacehat the dinnertable rose at him.That was a moment worth living for,and when,after his first bottle,Jack rattled the glasses,and declared himself a highwayman,the whole company shuddered.
``But,my friends,''quoth he,``today I am making holiday,so that you have naught to fear.''When the wine 's in,the wit 's out,and Jack could never stay his hand from the bottle.The more he drank,the more he bragged,until,thoroughly fuddled,he lost a ring from his finger,and charged the miscreants in the room with stealing it.``However,''hiccupped he,``'tis a mere nothing,worth a paltry hundred poundsless than a lazy evening's work.So I'll let the trifling theft pass.''But the cowards were not content with Jack's generosity,and seizing upon him,they thrust him neck and crop through the window.They were seventeen to one,the cravenhearted loons;and I could but leave the marks of my nails on the cheek of the foremost,and follow my hero into the yard,where we took coach,and drove sulkily back to Covent Garden.
`And yet he was not always in a mad humour;in fact,SixteenString Jack,for all his gaiety,was a proud,melancholy man.
The shadow of the tree was always upon him,and he would make me miserable by talking of his certain doom.``I have a hundred pounds in my pocket,''he would say;``I shall spend that,and then I shan't last long.''And though I never thought him serious,his prophecy came true enough.Only a few months before the end we had visited Tyburn together.With his usual carelessness,he passed the line of constables who were on guard.
``It is very proper,''said he,in his jauntiest tone,``that Ishould be a spectator on this melancholy occasion.''And though none of the dullards took his jest,they instantly made way for him.For my Jack was always a gentleman,though he was bred to the stable,and his bitterest enemy could not have denied that he was handsome.His open countenance was as honest as the day,and the brown curls over his forehead were more elegant than the smartest wig.Wherever he went the world did him honour,and many a time my vanity was sorely wounded.I was a pretty girl,mind you,though my travels have not improved my beauty;and Ihad many admirers before ever I picked up Jack Rann at a masquerade.Why,there was a Templar,with two thousand a year,who gave me a carriage and servants while I still lived at the dressmaker's in Oxford Street,and I was not out of my teens when the old Jew in St.Mary Axe took me into keeping.But when Jack was by,I had no chance of admiration.All the eyes were glued upon him,and his poor doxy had to be content with a furtive look thrown over a stranger's shoulder.At Barnet races,the year before they sent me across the sea,we were followed by a crowd the livelong day;and truly Jack,in his blue satin waistcoat laced with silver,might have been a peer.At any rate,he had not his equal on the course,and it is small wonder that never for a moment were we left to ourselves.
`But happiness does not last for ever;only too often we were gravelled for lack of money,and Jack,finding his purse empty,could do naught else than hire a hackney and take to the road again,while I used to lie awake listening to the watchman's raucous voice,and praying God to send back my warrior rich and scatheless.So times grew more and more difficult.Jack would stay a whole night upon the heath,and come home with an empty pocket or a beggarly half crown.And there was nothing,after a shabby coat that he hated half so much as a sheriff's officer.``Learn a lesson in politeness,''he said to one of the wretches who dragged him off to the Marshalsea.``When Sir John Fielding's people come after me they use me genteelly;they only hold up a finger,beckon me,and I follow as quietly as a lamb.
