The Circus, and Other Essays and Fugitive Pieces Part 8

No, Captain, I should know the Royal Mail, But when did you take up the coaching trade?

I had as soon expect to see old d.i.c.k Throw leg across your Monmouth's gleaming back, Thrust pistols in his belt, and gallop off To make his fortune in the light o' the moon, As to find you, the Master of the Heath, The Devil's Treasurer, the Velvet Mask, The Silver Pistoleer, the Winged Thief, Sitting with down-cast Sabbath-keeping eyes, Sad lips, and nose all fixed for droning psalms, In old d.i.c.k's place upon the Royal Mail.

A proper driver for a coach and four!

ASHMAN

Ha' done! G.o.d's mercy on us! Let me speak, And I will tell you such a waggery Will make you laugh and split your pretty sides: I stole the Royal Mail!

LITTLE GIRL

You stole the Mail?

ASHMAN

Aye, prigged it, Kate! Why, here it is, you see, Box, boot and wheels, four horses and a whip, And on the door King George's coat of arms.

All mine, good la.s.s, all mine. But for a price, A bitter price, dear Kate. For Monmouth's dead!

LITTLE GIRL

What, Monmouth, best of horses, is he dead?

O Captain Thunder, never tell me that!

Why, all the world holds not another horse So glossy black, so fleet, so wise, so kind!

ASHMAN

Yes, Monmouth's dead. d.i.c.k shot him through the heart, And Monmouth dropped without a whinny. But I paid d.i.c.k back. O Monmouth is avenged!

Now, hear me, Kate! I stopped the Royal Mail Last night at twelve o'clock at Carter's Cross, Says I, "Stand now! And let me have the bags-- That's all I want to-night! Hand over, there!"

d.i.c.k pulls his leaders on their haunches. "Why,"

Says he, "it's Captain Thunder! By my wig!

Just help yourself!" I prigged his pistol belt And rode around to look inside the coach.

I got the bags. The pa.s.sengers were three.

My Lord of Bath and Wells--

LITTLE GIRL

A Bishop, what?

ASHMAN

Aye, that he is; white wig and bands and all.

Yes, he's a Bishop. And there was his wife, (A big fat monster of a wife) and then There was a little wizened-looking thing, A sort of curate. Well, I looked at them And laughed to see them tremble in their shoes.

"Good e'en, my Lord," says I, and doffed my hat.

"How do you like the Royal Mail?" Says he: "O good Sir Highwayman, pray let me go, Our coach broke down at York, and so we took This public carrier, this dreadful thing, This Royal Mail. O will you let us pa.s.s?

I must get into Hull by dawn, and sleep, For I confirm an hundred souls at noon."

I listened to him, Kate, and did not see The old fox slip a pistol up to d.i.c.k.

But, bang! h.e.l.l's fury! Down fell Monmouth, dead.

And off I stumbled in the ditch! Well, Kate, d.i.c.k aimed for me, you see, and got the horse.

And I got d.i.c.k. I got him through the head.

And then I joined the Bishop once again.

"Come out, my Lord, and strip!" says I. "What, strip?"

Says he, and let his jaw fall on his chest.

"Yes, strip!" says I, and pulls his great-coat off: "Yes, strip!" says I, and throws his wig away: "Yes, strip!" says I, and pulls his breeches off: And there he stands and s.h.i.+vers, pink and fat.

"Now, Madame Bishopess," says I, "pray do Poor Captain Thunder so much courtesy As to ride by him on the way to town."

She screamed and fought. I took her in my arms And heaved her up into the seat. "Now strip!"

I shouted to the curate. "Yes," says he, "I'll strip," and strip he did. "Inside!" says I; They stumbled headlong in, I cracked my whip And, whoop! the Mail went rumbling on to Hull!

Well, just at dawn we pa.s.sed the Southern Gate; We galloped down the street and made a halt Beside the Close. "Here's the Cathedral, dame!"

Says I, and helped the lady to the ground.

"Unbar the door, and help his Lords.h.i.+p out And don't forget the curate!" How I laughed To see the Bishop and the curate run Stark naked, screaming, to the Chapter House!

Well, I was off at once and out of Hull And never stopped to breathe the nags till now.

LITTLE GIRL

But, Captain Thunder! Captain! Are you mad?

They'll have the country after you! Be quick!

You can't make cover in a coach and four As on a horse!

ASHMAN

Nay, Kate, rest easy now.

Red Will is out, and Davy Doublesword, And Hieland Jock, and Dan the Drum and Ned, And twenty gallant gentlemen beside.

And they have sworn to keep the roadway clear By setting all the lobsters such a chase Will scatter them till night. And Ned will blow His bugle when the way is safe. Then, whoop!

I'll rattle off again and fill the coach With gentlemen of fortune, comrades true, And own the road from here to London town.

(_A horn is heard and a cry of "Fish, fish, fish, fine fresh fis.h.!.+"_)

LITTLE GIRL

Down, Captain, loose the horses! There's the call!

(_The ASHMAN gets down, takes off the horse's nosebag and unhitches the horse from the post._)

ASHMAN (_getting back on his seat_)

Now, Kate, we'll gallop off to Arcady.

POLICEMAN (_suddenly entering_)

h.e.l.lo there, Ashes, who you talking to?

ASHMAN

Kate of the Greenwood.

POLICEMAN

Kate? You poor old b.o.o.b!

You're crazy in the head. There's no one there!

ASHMAN (_driving off_)