The History and Remarkable Life of the Truly Honourable Colonel Jacque, Commonly called Colonel Jack. Defoe Daniel
The History and Remarkable Life of the Truly Honourable Colonel Jacque, Commonly called Colonel Jack
he whispered softly, and asked me again.
I told him I believed I did, but that, indeed, I had it not, nor had no hand in stealing it, but it was gotten into the hands of a boy that would have burned it, if it had not been for me; and that I heard him say that the gentleman would be glad to have them again, and give a good deal of money for them.
"I did say so, child," said he; "and if you can get them for him, he shall give you a good reward, no less than £30, as he has promised."
"But you said too, sir, to the gentleman just now," said I, "that you was sure he would not bring them into any harm that should bring them."
"No, you shall come to no harm. I will pass my word for it."
Boy. Nor shan't they make me bring other people into trouble?
Gent. No; you shall not be asked the name of anybody, nor to tell who they are.
Boy. I am but a poor boy, and I would fain have the gentleman have his bills; and indeed I did not take them away, nor I han't got them.
Gent. But can you tell how the gentleman shall have them?
Boy. If I can get them, I will bring them to you to-morrow morning.
Gent. Can you not do it to-night?
Boy. I believe I may if I knew where to come.
Gent. Come to my house, child.
Boy. I don't know where you live.
Gent. Go along with me now, and you shall see.
So he carried me up into Tower Street, and showed me his house, and ordered me to come there at five o'clock at night; which accordingly I did, and carried the letter-case with me.
When I came the gentleman asked me if I had brought the book, as he called it.
"It is not a book," said I.
"No, the letter-case; that's all one," says he.
"You promised me," said I, "you would not hurt me," and cried.
"Don't be afraid, child," says he. "I will not hurt thee, poor boy; nobody shall hurt thee."
"Here it is," said I, and pulled it out.
He then brought in another gentleman, who, it seems, owned the letter-case, and asked him if that was it, and he said, "Yes."
Then he asked me if all the bills were in it.
I told him I heard him say there was one gone, but I believed there was all the rest.
"Why do you believe so?" says he.
"Because I heard the boy that I believe stole them say they were too big for him to meddle with."
The gentleman then that owned them said, "Where is the boy?"
Then the other gentleman put in, and said, "No, you must not ask him that; I passed my word that you should not, and that he should not be obliged to tell it to anybody."
"Well, child," says he, "you will let us see the letter-case opened, and whether the bills are in it?"
"Yes," says I.
Then the first gentleman said, "How many bills were there in it?"
"Only three," says he. "Besides the bill of £12, 10s., there was Sir Stephen Evans's note for £300 and two foreign bills."
"Well, then, if they are in the letter-case, the boy shall have £30, shall he not?" "Yes," says the gentleman; "he shall have it very freely."
"Come, then, child," says he, "let me open it."
So I gave it him, and he opened it, and there were all three bills, and several other papers, fair and safe, nothing defaced or diminished; and the gentleman said, "All is right."
Then said the first man, "Then I am security to the poor boy for the money." "Well, but," says the gentleman, "the rogues have got the £12, 10s.; they ought to reckon that as part of the £30." Had he asked me, I should have consented to it at first word; but the first man stood my friend. "Nay," says he, "it was since you knew that the £12, 10s. was received that you offered £30 for the other bills, and published it by the crier, and posted it up at the custom-house door, and I promised him the £30 this morning." They argued long, and I thought would have quarrelled about it.
However, at last they both yielded a little, and the gentleman gave me £25 in good guineas. When he gave it me he bade me hold out my hand, and he told the money into my hand; and when he had done he asked me if it was right. I said I did not know, but I believed it was. "Why," says he, "can't you tell it?" I told him no; I never saw so much money in my life, nor I did not know how to tell money. "Why," says he, "don't you know that they are guineas?" No, I told him, I did not know how much a guinea was.
"Why, then," says he, "did you tell me you believed it was right?" I told him, because I believed he would not give it me wrong.
"Poor child," says he, "thou knowest little of the world, indeed. What art thou?"
"I am a poor boy," says I, and cried.
"What is your name?" says he. "But hold, I forgot," said he; "I promised I would not ask your name, so you need not tell me."
"My name is Jacque," said I.
"Why, have you no surname?" said he.
"What is that?" said I.
"You have some other name besides Jacque," says he, "han't you?"
"Yes," says I; "they call me Colonel Jacque."
"But have you no other name?"
"No," said I.
"How came you to be Colonel Jacque, pray?"
"They say," said I, "my father's name was Colonel."
"Is your father or mother alive?" said he.
"No," said I; "my father is dead."
"Where is your mother, then?" said he.
"I never had e'er a mother," said I.
This made him laugh. "What," said he, "had you never a mother? What, then?"
"I had a nurse," said I; "but she was not my mother."
"Well," says he to the gentleman, "I dare say this boy was not the thief that stole your bills."
"Indeed, sir, I did not steal them," said I, and cried again.
"No, no, child," said he, "we don't believe you did. This is a very clever boy," says he to the other gentleman, "and yet very ignorant and honest; 'tis pity some care should not be taken of him, and something done for him. Let us talk a little more with him." So they sat down and drank wine, and gave me some, and then the first gentleman talked to me again.
"Well," says he, "what wilt thou do with this money now thou hast it?"
"I don't know," said I.
"Where will you put it?" said he,
"In my pocket," said I.
"In your pocket!" said he. "Is your pocket whole? Shan't you lose it?"
"Yes," said I, "my pocket is whole."
"And where will you put it when you get home?"
"I have no home," said I, and cried again.
"Poor child!" said he. "Then what dost thou do for thy living?"
"I go of errands," said I, "for the folks in Rosemary Lane."
"And what dost thou do for a lodging at night?"
"I lie at the glass-house," said I, "at night."
"How, lie at the glass-house! Have they any beds there?" says he.
"I never lay in a bed in my life," said I, "as I remember."
"Why," says he, "what do you lie on at the glass-house?"
"The ground," says I; "and sometimes a little straw, or upon the warm ashes."
Here the gentleman that lost the bills said,