of the Deer, against their poor
Christenings and Lyings-in. And through these means, and some small
money presents our Captain would make to their wives and callow brats,
it came to pass that Mother Drum had seldom cause to brew aught but the
smallest beer, for morning Drinking; for though we had to pay for our
Wine and Ardent Drinks, the cellar of the Stag o' Tyne was always
handsomely furnished with barrels of strong ale, which Lobbin Clout or
Colin Mayfly, the Hind or the Plough-churl, would bring us secretly by
night in their Wains for gratitude. I know not where they got the malt
from, but there was narrow a fault to find with the Brew. I recollect
its savour now with a sweet tooth, condemned as I am to the inky
Hog's-wash which the Londoners call Porter; and indeed it is fit for
Porters to drink, but not for Gentlemen. These Peasants used to tremble
all over with terror when they came to the Stag o' Tyne; but they were
always hospitably made welcome, and sent away with full gizzards, ay,
and with full heads too, and by potions to which the louts were but
little used.

We had no fear of treachery from these Chawbacons, but we had Enemies in
the Chase nevertheless. Here dwelt a vagabond tribe of Bastard Verderers
and Charcoal-burners, savage, ignorant, brutish Wretches, as
superstitious as the Manilla Creoles. They were one-half gipsies, and
one half, or perhaps a quarter, trade-fallen whippers-in and keepers
that had been stripped of their livery. They picked up their sorry crust
by burning of charcoal, and carting of dead wood to farmers for to
consume in their ingles. Now and again, when any of the Quality came to
hunt in the Chase, the Head Keeper would make use of a score or so of
them as beaters and rabble-prickers of the game; but nine months out of
the twelve they rather starved than lived. These Charcoal-burners hated
us Blacks, first, because in our sable disguise we rather imitated their
own Beastly appearance--for the varlets never washed from Candlemas to
Shrovetide; next, because we were Gentlemen; and lastly, because we
would not suffer them to catch Deer for themselves in pitfalls and
springes. Nay, a True Gentleman Black meeting a "Coaley," as we called
the charcoal fellows, with so much as a hare, a rabbit, or a pheasant
with him, let alone venison, would ofttimes give him a sackful of sore
bones to carry as well as a game-bag. No "Coaley" was ever let to slake
his thirst at the Stag o' Tyne. The