Roving Jack, The Pirate Hunter — page 135: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ROVING JACK, THE PIRATE HUNTER. 155 He rode on. ' It was a bright, moonlight night, The air was frosty, The sky was spangled with stars, that glittered through the clear blue ether with intense brilliance, The wood was comparatively deserted. * At Jong intervals, however, a strong party of travellers, banding together for mutual protection, would pass by. They were too powerfully armed, and_ too numerous and determined-looking, to give the egy age any encouragement for attacking them, Sometimes a string of heavy waggons and carriers’ carts, guarded by mounted men, would rattle by, but, as yet, Dick Turpin had met with no object at all suitable to his purpose. After riding about three or four miles up the road, the highwayman halted at the door of alow and ill-looking hostel. A fellow, dressed in a smock frock, came running out to meet him, He made a peculiar sign. Dick Turpin bent down his ear; the man pointed over his shoulder to the house, and whispered something hurriedly. The robber smiled, “T know the old chawbacon,” he said, leaping from his horse. “Aye, zure, capt’in; it be old varmer Gosling, one o’ the most credulous chaps as ever were skeared in a dark lane by a crooked tree or a zign-post ; he be now listenin’ to a most horrible ghost ztory as our parish clerk is tellin’, He’s got a bag of gowld under his saddle, for he be goin’ to market at Ware to buy zome beasts.”’ ‘Then, dam’me, I’ll be his porter,” returned the robber, laughing. “But bring us a glass of nut- brown, Luke, and put it down to my score ; I'll give ye a guinea for it when I come back,” The man grinned, He entered the tavern. Dick Turpin crept to the window. He peeped in through the red curtains. Beside the fire sat a fat old farmer, with a shock of silvery hair ard a very red face, listening aghast to some tale of terror narrated by a little pale-faced, weasened old crony, dressed in a seedy suit of black. ; The highwayman drew back, chuckling and rub- bing his hands, “ Mark, ho!” he muttered. just ready for plucking.” The ostler now brought out a glass of foaming ale, Dick Turpin tossed it off. “ And what’s to be done wi’ the foine black mare, capt’in ?” asked the man, “You must take charge of her, Luke, till I come back,” replied Dick Turpin. ; “Very good, zur, I'll ztow her away in one o’ the . ztables.”’ “But you won't play me false—ha ?” : “TLoard, capt’in, arn’t I zarved ye many a time avore ?” returned the rustic, “Yes; well and faithfully,” replied the robber, ‘‘ Look that you do so in this case.” “ Fear now t, capt’in,” é' “ Does the farmer ride alone ?”’ “ Aye, zure he do, zir.” ‘And when will he get ontheroad?” “%o zoon as Muster Stretcher has done vinishing his lyin’ ghost ztories.” “Then I’ll push on,” said the robber, laughing, “ and waylay him on the road.” “A rare fat pigeon “Gad zooks! do zo, capt’in,’’ chuckled the ostler. “But doan’tee vorget the promus you’ve made I about the gowld guinea,” “You shall have two#f I succeed, my boy,” re- plied Turpin ; “and so look well to the mare.” ‘You may depend on me vor that, zur.” With this the fellow cautiously led the horse through the gate of the stable-yard, Dick Turpin then removed his spurs and put them in his pocket, He concealed his whip. He wrapped his cloak tightly round him, He strode on. Walking as fast as he could he had in a short time placed a good long distance between himself and the old tavern. At length he seated himself upon a mile-stone, and, folding his arms, began to cogitate upon his further proceedings, A droll plan suggested itself to his mind. He burst into a hearty fit of laughter. Ha! ha!’ he exclaimed aloud, in his glee, “That will do!” At this moment he caught the distant click of a horse’s hoofs. It was a wild and solitary spot where he was resting. He rose.and walked for some distance down the road in the direction from which he heard the horseman advancing. The old farmer now appeared trotting carefully along on a chestnut horse. Dick Turpin crept to the bank. Just as the farmer turned the ‘bend in the road the highwayman threw himself down npon the bank, and placed his ear close to the ground. He made no attempt to hide himself. However, he turned his face towards the hedge. He was choking with inward laughter. ; Farmer Gosling rode up. He at once caught sight of the robber. He drew up his horse. “ Hulloa! hulloa!” he shouted. ‘‘ What’s the matter, friend, are ye ill? Have you been attacked by footpads? They say that scoundrel, Dick Turpin, infests this neighbourhood, What is it? what is it?” - Turpin did not answer. He preserved the same attitude, crouching on the ground with his ear pressed close against the bank, ‘ Blame the fellow, is he dead?” cried the farmer, lustily. Still no answer. ‘‘ Dead drunk, mayhap. Well, it’s no concern of mine,” grunted the farmer, He shook the rein, and spoke to his horse. Suddenly Dick Turpin raised his head, He held up his finger. ‘¢ Hist!” he exclaimed, mysteriously. Once more he bobbed down his head. He seemed listening with strained attention, “ Dash my wig! what does allthis mean?” roared the farmer. Dick Turpin once more looked up, He shook his head solemnly. Then he again pressed his ear against the earth. “ Blood an’ ’ouns, man, what the deuce are you listening to ?” shouted the farmer. ‘Ah, ; sir,” said Dick, assuming an air of great mystery, “I wouldn’t have believed—no, not if a bishop had sworn to it,”’ “ Believe what ?” cried the farmer. “No; I would not have believed it,” cried Dick,