Even in his negligent schooldays he had fastened upon a fitting
career. A born adventurer, he sought only enterprise and command: if a
commission in the army failed him, then he would risk his neck upon the
road, levying his own tax and imposing his own conditions. To one of his
dauntless resolution an opportunity need never have lacked; yet he owed
his first preferment to a happy accident. Surprised one evening in a
drunken brawl, he was hustled into the Poultry Counter, and there made
acquaintance over a fresh bottle with Robert Allen, one of the chief
rogues in the Park, and a ruffian, who had mastered every trick in the
game of plunder. A dexterous cly-faker, an intrepid blade, Allen had
also the keenest eye for untested talent, and he detected Hind's shining
qualities after the first glass. No sooner had they paid the price of
release, than Hind was admitted of his comrade's gang; he took the
oath of fealty, and by way of winning his spurs was bid to hold up
a traveller on Shooter's Hill. Granted his choice of a mount, he
straightway took the finest in the stable, with that keen perception of
horse-flesh which never deserted him, and he confronted his first victim
in the liveliest of humours. There was no falter in his voice, no hint
of inexperience in his manner, when he shouted the battle-cry: 'Stand
and deliver!' The horseman, fearful of his life, instantly surrendered a
purse of ten sovereigns, as to the most practised assailant on the road.
Whereupon Hind, with a flourish of ancient courtesy, gave him twenty
shillings to bear his charges. 'This,' said he, 'is for handsale sake ';
and thus they parted in mutual compliment and content.

Allen was overjoyed at his novice's prowess. 'Did you not see,' he cried
to his companions, 'how he robbed him with a grace?' And well did the
trooper deserve his captain's compliment, for his art was perfect from
the first. In bravery as in gallantry he knew no rival, and he plundered
with so elegant a style, that only a churlish victim could resent the