Jack the Robber

THE road which leads uphill from a picturesque little country town in one of the midland countries in Ireland would, if followed by many bye-roads and turnings, eventually bring the traveler to Dublin, some sixty miles away. At one time this road was shaded by the overhanging branches of large trees growing in the high hedgerows on either side; but near the town, these trees have been cut down to make room for the laborers’ cottages which have lately sprung up around every town or village in Ireland.

On one evening late in October there was rejoicing in one of these cottages. Laurence Smith had for some time been in receipt of his old-age pension, but for some occult reason it had hitherto been denied to his wife. Now, however, it was no longer withheld; and on that eventful Saturday morning Smith had returned from his weekly visit to the post office with ten shillings in his hand; a sum which, to him and his wife, was positive riches. The good news had spread, and the neighbors crowded to their cottage to congratulate them on their good fortune.

‘God be wid the good owld times!’ said Michael Donovan, an old man who had been sitting smoking in silence and did not appear to take any notice of what was going on.

‘Amen,’ answered most of those present; and looked at him inquiringly.

‘God be wid the good owld times!’ he repeated, even more impressively. ‘ I mind the times when it wud n’t be sittin’ an’ talkin’ av nothin’ at all, but ivery man ’ud be tellin’ stories — rale owld stories worth the listenin’ to. They knowed a quare lot av stories in them days, but they’s all forgot now. People does only be talkin’ av the neighbors, or maybe th’ weather an’ th’ crops, or th’ cows an’ pigs (God bless thim), but the rale owld ancient stories is forgot.’

‘Do you remimber anny av them, Michael?’ asked Mrs. Casey, a lean, eager-looking little woman, a grandmother, and, as she said of herself, ‘ near qualified for the pinshon.’

‘Maybe I do, wan or two av thim, but it’s long since I heerd anny av thim an’ me mimory is n’t what it were. We’d be goin’ wancest or maybe twicest a week to aich other’s houses afther the childher was in bed, makin’ “Caileys” we did be callin’ thim; an’ thin we’d sit be the fire an’ tell thim owld stories. But that was before th’ famine year, an’ th’ bad toimes, an’ th’ agitation come an us, an’ th’ counthry’s niver been the same since.’

‘An’ why wud n’t we do it agin?’ asked Mrs. Casey excitedly. ‘Sure, now, the min cud bring their pipes an’ terbacca, an’ the women their knittin’, an’ ivery wan wud take a turrn to tell a story, an’ thim as had n’t anny story to tell wud n’t be let to join the company.’

The idea was hailed with enthusiasm. Laurence Smith proposed that the meetings should take place at his house once a week, ‘ Herself’ being too ‘ dawny ’ to lave the house in the cowld evenings; and that the first story should begin at once.

‘As it were Mickey who made the first proposial to hould Caileys among ourselves, he has th’ right to tell the first story; an’ mind ye tell a good wan.’

When the whole party was ready, the youngsters sitting on the ground, looking up with eager expectation into the old man’s face, Mickey began impressively, pleased at having so large an audience.

‘This is th’ owld story of Jack the Robber, which I heerd tell when I was a bit av a gossoon, no bigger nor you, Patsey Holohan.

‘ There was wance upon a time — an’ a very long time ago it was, too — a gentleman that lived in a lonesome part av the country. He was terr’ble rich and had great estates, an’ he had a steward who looked afther the farm and the workmen for him. This steward was a dacent quite man, but he had a son called Jack, an’ he was the rale young vagabone, always up to some divvlemint or other. He was the terr’blest thief iver ye seen, an’ he had his father an’ mother’s hearts clane broke thryin’ to put back the things he’d stale unbeknownst, to save him from gettin’ cot.

‘Now the Master had a grear wish for Jack, be raison av the quare thricks he did be playin’, an’ ses he to the steward: “What are you goin’ to do wid Jack? Sure, it’s at school he has a right to be these times. ”

‘“Well, yer Honor,” ses the steward, “there’s n’ only the wan place to send him, an’ that’s where he’ll larn the only thrade he’s fit for.”

‘ “ An’ what’s that? ” ses the Masther.

‘“It’s where he’ll larn to be a proper thief that won’t get cot; bekase there’s nothin’ in the wide worrld that ud keep him from thievin’, an’ he’d ha’ been turned out av any other place long ago. I’ve been makin’ inquiries,” ses the steward, “an’ I heerd tell av a grand thief to send him to; but his terrms is very high. All the same, it would be betther to pay them nor to have him sint out av the counthry.”

‘Well, the Masther thin tried to pershwade the steward to sind Jack to a reformatory, or some place where he’d be larnt a thrade, but he wud n’t listen to rayson. So Jack was sint to the thief, to larn his thrade; an’ at th’ ind av three years, back he comes wid a letther from the master robber sayin’ he was as perfect a thief as he could turn out, an’ no fear av him gettin’ cot. Well, the steward shows the letther to th’ Masther, an’ he said to send Jack up to him in th’ mornin’ an’ he’d give him a job that ’ud show was he as good a robber as he said he was. “But, mind this,”ses th’ Masther, “if he does n’t succeed, I’ll have him up for thryin’ to rob me, an’ have him sint away out av the counthry.”

‘Well, the steward wint home an’ tould Jack that he’d have to mind himself, bekase th’ Masther was determined to catch him if he could. When he said that, Jack began to laugh, an’ ses he, “there is n’t a job the Masther can set me that’ll bate me, an’ let him not be afeered.”

‘The next marnin’, up goes me brave Jack to the big house, as bowld as brass, an’ axes the Masther what was the job he had for him.

‘“I think I’ve a job that’ll puzzle ye,” ses the Masther. “ It is to stale me best hunter out of his sthall to-night, an’ four min watchin’ him. If you do it,” ses he, “I’ll give you five pounds; but if you get cot, I’ll have ye up for thryin’ to stale me harse.”

“‘Och, sure, that’s aisy enough,” ses Jack. “Never fear but I’ll bring you the harse in the marnin’, an’ do you be ready wid the gould,” ses he.

‘Wid that Jack goes home to lay his plans, an’ the Masther goes to make his plans to catch Jack. The Masther gets four big, strong min that he thinks he can thrust, an’ tells thim they must sit up wid the harse all night, an’ an no account to lave him for a minit. Two was to be in the sthall an aich side of the harse, the way that whin wan was thryin’ to get a bit av shlape, the three wud be awake watchin’ Jack. The harse was to be fastened to the manger wid an iron chain wid a padlock an it, an’ the biggest an’ strongest av thim was to keep the kay in his pocket; an’ if they cot Jack, he’d give aich av them a pound in the marnin’.

‘Well, you’d think that wid all that plannin’ Jack would n’t get a chanst of stalin’ the harse, but he made his plans, too. First, he wint to the town an’ he bought four bottles av the sthrongest whiskey he could get; an’ when it was black night, an’ the min quite in the sthable, he tuk a sup out av another bottle that he brought wid him near empty, the way they’d get the shmell an him; an’ he goes to the pigstye, which was convaynient to the sthable, where there was a valuable sow, an’ a man did be watchin’ her ivery night bekase she was goin’ to have young wans, an’ he was afraid she would ait thim if he was n’t there when they was born. But this night he was in the sthable helpin’ to mind the harse. Well, Jack crep’ into the stye an’ lies down beside the sow; an’ then he takes another sup av the whiskey, an’ puts the empty bottle down beside him; an’ he takes his knife out av his pocket an’ gives the sow a prod wid it, an’ the sow lets a squeal out of her that rouses the min in the sthable.

‘“What’s wrong wid the sow?” ses the man that minded the pigs. “I’d betther go an’ see. Do all av youse keep a good lookout for Jack.”

‘Wid that he goes to the stye, an’ what did he see but Jack lyin’ dead dhrunk beside the sow, an’ the empty bottle in his hand. So he goes back to the sthable an’ tells the others, an’ all av thim wint out to look at Jack, an’ him snorin’ his best; but it was only pertendin’ he was, an’ he listenin’ to ivery worrd they did be say in’.

‘“There’s not much fear av him annyhow,” says the pig man. “It’s the fine laugh we’ll have at him when he wakes! But what ’ll we do wid him at all? We can’t lave him here to be annoyin’ the sow.”

‘So they settled to bring him into the sthable, where they’d have an eye an him, an’ give him up to the Masther in the marnin’.

‘So they lifted Jack, an’ brought him into the sthable, an’ put him down in wan av the sthalls beside the harse. As they was carryin’ him, the bottles in his pocket kep’ rattlin’ agin each other, an’ the min laughed an’ said it would be a grand thrick to play Jack, to drink all his whiskey on him, an’ wud n’t he be mad in the marnin’ to see the fool he made av himself. So they set to work, an’ it was n’t long before they was all lyin’ drunk, an’ the bottles empty beside thim.

‘Jack waits till it were light, an’ he feels in the man’s pockets till he gets the kay of the padlock that was on the harse’s head-collar, an’ the kays of the door an’ the yard; an’ thin he goes to the harness-room, an’ gets the harse’s saddle an’ bridle, an’ away wid him for a ride in the cool av the marnin’.

‘Well, the Masther comes out rale airly to see did the min get Jack, an’ he finds the sthable door on the latch an’ the four min lyin’ dead drunk in the straw. An’ was n’t he in a proper rage! While he was standin’ lookin’ at thim, he hears the tramp av a harse’s feet in the yard, an’ there he sees me brave Jack facin’ him.

‘“Good marnin’, sir,” ses Jack very polite. “I’ve brought the harse in afther his marnin’s exercise; I did n’t think anny av them chaps wud do much good wid him. I’ll thrubble ye for that five-poun’ note if ye plaze, as soon as I ’ve rubbed down the harse, an’ give him his feed.”

‘“Well, Jack,” ses the Masther, “ye’re cliverer even nor I expectid. If ye comes to me when ye’ve done up the harse, I’ll give ye the money an’ set ye another job, to see what sort av a hand ye’ll make av it.”

‘Well, when Jack went to the Masther an’ got the money, he axes what was the next job he had for him.

‘“Do you go to the field where the men is ploughin’ to-morrow marnin’, an’ stale the two harses out av the plough, an’ four men wid thim,” ses the Masther. “If ye does it, I’ll give ye another five pound; but if they catches ye, I ’ll sind ye to jail for thryin’ to rob me.”

‘“All right,” ses Jack; “if I goes an at this rate, I’ll soon be a rich man.”

‘The next marnin’, before it was light, Jack wint to a place where there was a lot av rabbits, an’ he felt in all the holes till he got a nest av young rabbits that was just ready to run about, an’ puts them in his pocket. Well, a little before the time that the min would be beginnin’ to plough, he goes to the field an’ lays down in a clump of furze-bushes an the side av the hill, close to where the plough wud be passin’, an’ watches a good opporchunity. Well, the plough wint up the hill, an’ it wint down the hill, till at last it come to near where Jack was lyin’ consaled in the whin bushes; an’ just as it were passin’, he lets out wan av the little rabbits, but the min did n’t take no notice av it. An’ the plough goes up the hill, an’ down the hill, till it comes agin close beside Jack; an’ thin he lets out another little rabbit, an’ there was the two av thim playin’ about in front av the plough, but still the min did n’t pass any remarks. So the next time it come near him, did n’t he let out the whole lot, an’ there they was close beside the plough, an’ not a sign av Jack anywhere.

‘Ses wan av the min, “A couple av thim would do me well for my dinner.”

‘“So they would,” ses another; an’ wan man slips away afther the rabbits, an’ then another chap thinks he’ll catch a few for himself; till in the end was n’t iv’ry wan av them runnin’ afther the rabbits, an’ forgettin’ all about Jack. An’ the little rabbits run down the hill, an’ round the carner; an’ then me brave Jack slips out av his hide-hole, an’ in wan minit he had the traces cut an’ was up an the back av wan av the horses an’ th’ other in his hand, an’ away wid him into the yard; an’ who should meet him at the gate but the Masther, who was coming out to see did the men catch Jack yet.

‘“That job did n’t take long, sir,” ses Jack. “ I ’ll thrubble ye for that five pound, if convaynient. Ye ’ll have to set me somethin’ harder nor that if ye wants to have me cot,” ses Jack, wid a grin an him that driv the Masther mad.

“‘Well, I must think av wan,” ses the Masther, thryin’ to put a good face an it. “Come up in the marnin’,” ses he, “an’ I’ll see what I can contrive, to circumvent ye.”

“‘All right, sir,” ses Jack; “but all the same I’d like well to see the color av the money first,” ses he.

‘Well, Jack gets the money; an’ afther the Masther’s breakfast the next marnin’, he goes up to the big house to see the job he was to get.

‘“I’ve been thinkin’, Jack, an’ I’ve been consultin’ wid the Misthress, an’ the two av us is agreed that there’s no thrustin’ them greedy divvles. First they is afther the dhrink, an’ next afther young rabbits to ait; so we’ll thrust none but ourselves this time. Do you stale the sheet av the bed from undher the Misthress an’ meself this night, an’ if ye do, there’ll be another fiver for ye, an’ if ye is cot, ye knows what’ll happen ye.”

‘This time Jack was rale bet, an’ thought for a long time, till he tuk a notion in his head, an’ wint to the town to see what was happenin’ there. He met a man who towld him av wan that died in the hospital that marnin’, an’ was in the dead house till his frinds came to fetch him to get buried.

‘ “ I ’ll risk it,” ses Jack. So he goes to the hospital an’ sees the porther, who was a frind av his, an’ offers him five pounds for the loan av the dead man, an’ ses he’ll bring him safe back in the marnin’, wid not a ha’porth on him.

‘Well, the porther agrees to do it for the five pound, but Jack must be sure to bring him back before his frinds come to fetch him in the marnin’. An’ Jack gets the lend av an ass-cart, an’ went, as soon as it were dark, to fetch away the body. He gets some owld clothes av his own an’ puts thim an the dead man, an’ ties a rope undher his arrms, an’ thin he climbs up to the top av the big house, an’ lets the body down the chimbly av the Masther’s room. He listened till he heerd the boots sthrike aginst the grate, an’ thin he keeps a tight howlt av the ends av the rope.

‘Well, whin the Masther heerd the boots sthrikin’ aginst the fender, he ses to the Misthress. “There’s Jack; howld an till I get a shot, at him. I ’ll just, hit him in the leg,” ses he, “an’ that ’ll stop him makin’ aff.”

‘It were only just beginnin’ to get light, an’ the Masther could just see the legs av the man in the chimbly, so he aims a shot at thim wid a small little pistol he had consaled undher the piller, an’ Jack lets a screech, an’ lets go av the rope, an’ the dead man tumbles right down the chimbly into the room.

“‘What will we do now?” ses the Masther. “I’m afeerd,” ses he, “I hurted him worse nor I intinded.” So up he gets, an’ ses he to the Misthress, “Bedad, he’s dead an me; an’ if the polis hears av it, it’s meself that will be tuk up, an’ that ’ud be a poor job for a man like me, an’ a magisthrate, to be had up for murdher.”

‘“I’ll tell ye what we’ll do,” ses the Misthress. “The sarvints is none av thim up yet, an’ they shlape in th’ other ind av the house. We’ll just lift him our two selves an ’ carry him out an’ lay him an th’ road, an’ not a wan will be the wiser.”

‘So the Misthress gets out av bed, an’ puts a warrm cloak over her; an’ the Masther, he puts his coat an’ throusers an him, an’ they carries the dead man out av the house, an’ lays him in the ditch be th’ roadside.

‘When Jack hears thim both away, what does he do but gets down the chimbly an’ has the two sheets aff the bed, an’ away wid him to where he lift th’ ass-cart, wid the dead man’s own clothes in it, an’ has him back at th’ hospital before the porther was found out. If the porther was n’t glad to see Jack come back wid the body, who was?

‘The Masther an’ Misthress was that cold an’ frighted, that they niver missed the sheets aff the bed till there comes a knock at the door, an’ in walks me brave Jack, wid the sheets done up in a nate parcel undher his arrm.

‘The Masther an’ Misthress was rale glad to see him, for they did n’t want to kill him at all, only to give him a fright, an’ maybe a small little shot in th’ leg to tache him to mind himself. Well, the Masther ses, “You’re too clivver a robber for this counthry, Jack; you’re only wastin’ yer time here. Ameriky’s the place for the likes av you.” So he pays Jack’s passage out to New York, an’ what the ind av him was, not a know do I know.’