1798.
Tribulations connected with "Old Lucas," the constable, with an
account of the subsequent proceedings before Mr. Blamire, the
magistrate, at Hatton Garden, and the mysterious appearance
of a silver staff--A guinea wager with a jocose friend on the
Dartford-road--The Prince of Wales, Sheridan, and the Crockery
Girl.
At this time all the ground upon which Claremont, Myddleton, Lloyd,
and Wilmington Squares have since been built, together with the
numberless streets which diverge from them in all directions, was then
pasture-land or garden-ground, bearing the name of Sadler's Wells
Fields. Across these fields it was of course necessary that Grimaldi
should pass and repass in going to and returning from the theatre.
Upon this particular morning, a mob, consisting of at least a thousand
persons, were actively engaged here in hunting an over-driven ox,--a
diversion then in very high repute among the lower orders of the
metropolis, but which is now, happily for the lives and limbs of the
more peaceable part of the community, falling into desuetude: there not
being quite so many open spaces or waste grounds to chase oxen in, as
there used to be a quarter of a century ago. The mob was a very dense
one, comprised of the worst characters; and perceiving that it would
be a task of some difficulty to clear a passage through it, he paused
for a minute or two, deliberating whether he had not better turn back
at once and take the longer but less obstructed route by the Angel at
Islington, when a young gentleman whom he had never seen before, after
eyeing him with some curiosity, walked up and said--
"Is not your name Grimaldi, sir?"
"Yes, sir, it is," replied the other. "Pray, may I inquire why you ask
the question?"
"Because," answered the stranger, pointing to a man who stood among
a little group of people hard by,--"because I just now heard that
gentleman mention it to a companion."
The person whom the young man pointed out was a very well known
character about Clerkenwell and its vicinity, being an object of
detestation with the whole of the neighbourhood. This man was
Lucas,--"Old Lucas" was his familiar appellation,--and he filled the
imposing office of parish constable. Parish constables are seldom very
popular in their own districts, but Old Lucas was more unpopular than
any man of the same class; and if the stories which are current of
him be correct, with very good reason, unless the man was dreadfully
belied. In short, he was a desperate villain. It was very generally
understood of him, that where no real accusation existed against a man,
his course of proceeding was to invent a false one, and to bolster
it up with the most unblushing perjury, and an ingenious system of
false evidence, which he had never any difficulty in obtaining, for
the purpose of pocketing certain small sums which, under the title of
"expenses," were paid upon the conviction of the culprit.
Being well acquainted with this man's reputation, Grimaldi was much
astonished, and not at all pleasantly so, by the information he
had just received; and he inquired with considerable anxiety and
apprehension, whether the young man was quite certain that it was _his_
name which the constable had mentioned.
"Quite certain," was the reply. "I can't have made any mistake upon the
subject, because he wrote it down in his book."
"Wrote it down in his book!" exclaimed Grimaldi.
"Yes, he did, indeed," replied the other: "and more than that, I heard
him say to another man beside him, that 'he could lay hold of you
whenever he wanted you.'"
"The devil he did!" exclaimed Grimaldi. "What on earth can he want with
me? Well, sir, at all events I have to thank you for your kindness in
informing me, although I am not much wiser on the point than I was
before."
Exchanging bows with the stranger, they separated; the young man mixing
with the crowd, and Grimaldi turning back, and going to the theatre
by the longest road, with the double object of avoiding Old Lucas and
keeping out of the way of the mad ox.
Having to attend to his business immediately on his arrival at the
theatre, the circumstance escaped his memory, nor did it occur to him
again until he returned thither in the evening, shortly before the
performances commenced, when being reminded of it by some accidental
occurrence, he related the morning's conversation to some of his more
immediate associates, among whom were Dubois, a celebrated comic actor,
another performer of the name of Davis, and Richer, a very renowned
rope-dancer. His communication, however, elicited no more sympathetic
reception than a general burst of laughter, which having subsided, they
fell to bantering the unfortunate object of Old Lucas's machinations.
"That fellow Lucas," said Dubois, assuming a grave face, "is a most
confirmed scoundrel; he would stick at nothing, not even at Joe's life,
to gain a few pounds, or perhaps even a few shillings."
Joe looked none the happier for this observation, and another friend
took up the subject.
"Lucas,--Lucas," said Richer; "that is the old man who wears
spectacles, isn't it?"
"That's the man," replied Dubois; "the constable, you know. He hasn't
written your name down in his book for nothing, Joe, take my word for
that."
"Precisely my opinion," said Davis; "he means to make a regular
property out of him. Don't be frightened, Joe, that's all."
These prophetic warnings had a very serious effect upon the spirits of
the party principally interested,--which his companions perceiving,
hastened to carry on the joke, by giving vent to sundry other terrible
surmises upon the particular crime with which the officer meant to
charge him; one suggesting that it was murder, another that he thought
it was forgery, (which made no great difference in the end, the offence
being punished with the same penalty,) and a third good-naturedly
remarking that perhaps it might not be quite so bad, after all,
although certainly Lucas did possess such weight with the magistrates,
that it was invariably two to one against the unfortunate person whom
he charged with any offence.
Although he was at no loss to discern and appreciate the raillery
of his friends, Grimaldi could not divest himself of some nervous
apprehensions connected with the adventure of the morning: when,
just as he was revolving in his mind all the improbabilities of the
officer's entertaining any designs against him, one of the messengers
of the theatre abruptly entered the room in which they were all seated,
and announced that Mr. Grimaldi was wanted directly at the stage-door.
"Who wants me?" inquired Grimaldi, turning rather pale.
"It's a person in spectacles," replied the messenger, looking at the
rest of the company, and hesitating.
"A person in spectacles!" echoed the other, more agitated than before.
"Did he give you his name, or do you know who he is?"
"O yes, I know who he is," answered the messenger, with something
between a smile and a gasp:--"it's Old Lucas."
Upon this, there arose a roar of laughter, in which the messenger
joined. Grimaldi was quite petrified, and stood rooted to the spot,
looking from one to another with a face in which dismay and fear were
visibly depicted.
Having exhausted themselves with laughing, his companions, regarding
his unhappy face, began to grow serious, and Dubois said,
"Joe, my boy, a joke's a joke, you know. We have had one with you, and
that was all fair enough, and it's all over; but if there is anything
really serious in this matter, we will prove ourselves your friends,
and support you against this old rascal in any way in our power."
All the others said something of the same sort, for which Grimaldi
thanked them very heartily, being really in a state of great
discomfort, and entertaining many dismal forebodings. It was then
proposed that everybody present should accompany him in a body to the
stage-door, and be witnesses to anything that the thief-taker had
to say or do; it being determined beforehand that in the event of
his being insolent, he should be summarily put into the New River.
Accordingly, they went down in a body, bearing Joe in the centre; and
sure enough at the door stood Old Lucas _in propriâ personâ_.
"Now, then, what's the matter?" said the leader of the guard; upon
which Grimaldi summoned up courage, and echoing the inquiry, said,
"What's the matter?" too.
"You must come with me to Hatton Garden," said the constable, in a
gruff voice. "Come, I can't afford to lose any more time."
Here arose a great outcry, mingled with various exclamations of,
"Where's your warrant?" and many consignments of Mr. Lucas to the
warmest of all known regions.
"Where's your warrant?" cried Davis, when the noise had in some measure
subsided.
The officer deigned no direct reply to this inquiry, but looking at
Grimaldi, demanded whether he was ready; in answer to which question
the whole party shouted "No!" with tremendous emphasis.
"Look here, Lucas," said Dubois, stepping forward; "you are an old
scoundrel!--no one knows that better, or perhaps could prove it easier,
than I. Now, so far as concerns Mr. Grimaldi, all we have got to say
is, either show us a warrant which authorizes you to take him into
custody, or take yourself into custody and take yourself off under
penalty of a ducking."
This speech was received with a shout of applause, not only by the
speaker's companions, but by several idlers who had gathered round.
"I'm not a-talking to you, Mr. Dubois," said Lucas, as soon as he could
make himself heard;--"Mr. Grimaldi's my man. Now, sir, will you come
along with me?"
"Not without a warrant," said the rope-dancer.
"Not without a warrant," added Davis.
"Not upon any consideration whatever," said Dubois.
"Don't attempt to touch him without a warrant; or--"
"Or what?" inquired Lucas; "or what, Mr. Dubois? eh, sir!"
The answer was lost in a general chorus of "The River!"
This intimation, pronounced in a very determined manner, had a visible
effect upon the officer, who at once assuming a more subdued tone, said,
"Fact is, that I've not got a warrant; (a shout of derision;) fact is,
it's not often that I'm asked for warrants, because people generally
knows that I'm in authority, and thinks that's sufficient. (Another.)
However, if Mr. Grimaldi and his friends press the objection, I shall
not urge his going with me now, provided he promises and they promises
on his behalf to attend at Hatton Garden Office, afore Mr. Blamire, at
eleven o'clock to-morrow morning."
This compromise was at once acceded to, and Old Lucas turned to go
away; but he did not entirely escape even upon this occasion, for while
the above conversation was going forward at the door, the muster of
people collected around had increased to a pretty large concourse. The
greater part of them knew by sight both Grimaldi and the constable; and
as the latter was about to depart, the lookers-on pressed round him,
and a voice from the crowd cried out, "What's the matter, Joe?"
"The matter is this, gentlemen," said Dubois, returning to the top of
the steps, and speaking with great vehemence and gesticulation:--"This
rascal, gentlemen," pointing to the constable, "wants to drag Joe
Grimaldi to prison, gentlemen."
"What for?--what for?" cried the crowd.
"For doing nothing at all, gentlemen," replied the orator, who had
reserved the loudest key of his voice for the concluding point.
This announcement was at once received with a general yell, which
caused the constable to quicken his pace very considerably. The mob
quickened theirs also, and in a few seconds the whole area of Sadler's
Wells yard rang with whoops and yells almost as loud as those which
had assailed the ox in the morning; and Mr. Lucas made the best of his
way to his dwelling, amidst a shower of mud, rotten apples, and other
such missiles. The performances in the theatre went off as usual. After
all was over, Grimaldi returned home to supper, having been previously
assured by his friends that they would one and all accompany him to
the Police-office in the morning, and having previously arranged
so as to secure as a witness the young gentleman who had given the
first information regarding the views and intentions of the worthy
thief-taker.
At the appointed hour, Grimaldi and his friends repaired to the
Police-office, and were duly presented to Mr. Blamire, the sitting
magistrate, who, having received them with much politeness, requested
Old Lucas, who was then and there in attendance, to state his case,
which he forthwith proceeded to do.
He deposed, with great steadiness of nerve, that Joseph Grimaldi had
been guilty of hunting, and inciting and inducing other persons to
hunt, an over-driven ox, in the fields of Pentonville, much to the
hazard and danger of his Majesty's subjects, much to the worry and
irritation of the animal, and greatly to the hazard of his being lashed
into a state of furious insanity. Mr. Lucas deposed to having seen
with his own eyes the offence committed, and in corroboration of his
eyesight produced his companions of the morning, who confirmed his
evidence in every particular. This, Mr. Lucas said, was his case.
The accused being called upon for his defence, stated the circumstances
as they had actually occurred, and produced his young acquaintance,
who, as it appeared, was the son of a most respectable gentleman in the
neighbourhood. The young gentleman confirmed the account of the affair
which had been given last; deposed to the accused not having been in
the field more than two or three minutes altogether; to his never
having been near the ox-hunters; and to his having gone to the theatre
by a route much longer than his ordinary one, for the express purpose
of avoiding the ox and his hunters, Mr. Lucas and his companions.
The magistrate heard all this conflicting evidence upon an apparently
very unimportant question, with a great deal more patience and coolness
than some of his successors have been in the habit of displaying; and
after hearing it, and various audible and unreserved expressions of
opinions from Mr. Dubois, and others, touching the respectability and
probity of Lucas, turned to the accused, and said--
"Mr. Grimaldi, I entirely believe your version of the affair to be
the correct and true one; but I am bound to act upon the deposition
of this constable and his witnesses, and accordingly I must, however
unwillingly, convict you in some penalty. I shall take care, though,
that your punishment is one which shall neither be heavy to you nor
serviceable to the complainant. I hereby order you to pay a fine
of five shillings, and to be discharged. As to you, Lucas, I would
recommend you to be careful how you conduct yourself in future, and
more especially to be careful as to the facts which you state upon
oath."
After this decision, which his friends and himself looked upon as
a complete triumph, they bowed to the magistrate and quitted the
Police-office, Grimaldi previously paying the five shillings which he
had been fined, and an additional shilling for his discharge. It was
then proposed and unanimously agreed that the party should adjourn to
a tavern,[24] called the King of Prussia (now bearing the sign of the
Clown), opposite Sadler's Wells theatre, for the purpose of having some
lunch; and thither they proceeded, and made themselves very merry with
the mortified looks of Old Lucas, mingling with their mirth some dry
and abstruse speculations upon the nature of the laws which compelled
a magistrate to accept the oath of a reputed perjurer, and to convict
upon it a person whom he conscientiously believed to be innocent of the
offence laid to his charge.
While they were thus engaged, some person came running into the room,
and, looking hastily round, cried, "Joe! Joe! here's Old Lucas again."
The friends began to laugh, and Grimaldi joined them, thinking that
this was but a jest; but he was greatly mistaken, for in less than a
minute Lucas entered the room.
"Why, Mister Constable!" exclaimed Dubois, rising angrily, "how dare
you come here?"
"Because I have business," surlily replied Lucas. "Mr. Grimaldi has
been very properly convicted of an offence at the Police-office, and
sentenced to pay a fine of five shillings, besides one shilling more
for his discharge: neither of these sums has he paid, so he is still my
prisoner."
"Not paid?" exclaimed the accused. "Why, I paid the six shillings
before I left the office."
This statement was corroborated by the friends, and the mute but
eloquent testimony of his purse, which contained precisely that sum
less than it had done an hour previously.
"It's no use," said Lucas, grinning: "pay the money, or come on with
me."
"I have already paid all that was required, and I will neither give you
another farthing, nor allow myself to be made prisoner," was the reply.
"We'll see that," responded the constable, advancing.
"Take care," said Grimaldi, warningly; "venture to touch me, and to the
ground you go!"
Not a bit daunted, Old Lucas darted upon him, dragged him from his
seat, and attempted to force him towards the door; in doing which he
managed to tear his waistcoat and shirt-collar literally to ribands.
Until then he had remained quite cool, merely acting upon the
defensive; but now he gave way to his rage, and fulfilled his threat
to the letter by giving him a blow which felled him to the ground,
and caused his nose to bleed in a manner neither sentimental nor
picturesque.
He, however, immediately rose again, and producing his staff, was
about, thus strengthened, to renew the combat, when a gentleman who
chanced to be sitting in the room, a stranger to the party, rose, and
drawing from his pocket a silver staff, shook it at Lucas, and said,
"I will have no more of this violence! Let all parties adjourn to the
Police-office; and if Mr. Grimaldi's tale be true, and your purpose be
merely that of endeavouring to extort money, as I have no doubt it is,
I will take care that things be laid properly before the magistrate."
Lucas, who appeared to succumb before the vision of the silver staff,
surlily assented, and they all presently presented themselves for the
second time that day before Mr. Blamire, who was greatly astonished at
their re-appearance, and greatly surprised at the altered appearance
of Old Lucas's face. The magistrate, moreover, seemed to know the
silver-staffed gentleman very well, and greeted him cordially.
"Well," said Mr. Blamire, after the bustle of entrance had ceased,
"what's the matter, now? Speak, you, Lucas!"
"Your worship," said the person called upon, "Mr. Grimaldi was fined
five shillings just now, and had to pay one for his discharge, all of
which he left the office without doing."
"Indeed!--is that true?" inquired the magistrate of the clerk, in an
under tone.
"No, sir," replied the latter, with a slight but meaning smile.
"Go on, sir," said Mr. Blamire, addressing Lucas.
Lucas was a little abashed at the "aside" confab between the magistrate
and his clerk; but, affecting not to hear it, he continued, "Of
course, therefore, he still remained my prisoner; and I followed him,
and insisted upon his paying the money. This he refused: I therefore
collared him, for the purpose of making him return here, and in so
doing I tore his shirt and waistcoat. The moment he perceived I had
done so, he----"
Lucas paused for an instant, and Mr. Blamire filled up the sentence by
saying--
"He gave you a blow on the nose?"
"Exactly so, sir," said Lucas, eagerly.
"And very well you merited it," added the magistrate, in a tone which
caused a general roar of laughter. "Well, Mr. Grimaldi, let us hear
what _you_ have to say."
He briefly recounted the circumstances; and when he had finished, the
unknown with the silver staff advanced and corroborated the statement,
making several severe remarks upon the private intentions and violent
manner of Lucas.
"Who," says Grimaldi, with profound respect and an air of great
mystery,--"Who this gentleman was, I never could ascertain; but that he
was a person possessing a somewhat high degree of authority was evident
to me from the great respect paid to him at the Police-office. Some one
afterwards told me he was a city marshal, possessing power to exercise
his authority without the city; but I know not whether he was so or
not."
After this disguised potentate had given his testimony, which rendered
the matter conclusive, Mr. Blamire said, "Place Lucas at the bar;"
which being done, the magistrate proceeded to mulct him in a penalty of
five pounds, the money to go to the poor of the parish, and likewise
ordered him to make Grimaldi every necessary reparation and amendment
for the results of his violence.
On this sentence being pronounced, Old Lucas foamed at the mouth in
a manner not unlike the over-driven ox, the original cause of his
disaster, and protested, with many disrespectful oaths and other
ebullitions of anger, that he would not pay one farthing; upon which
the magistrate, nothing daunted, commanded him to be locked up
forthwith, which was done to the great delight and admiration, not only
of the friends and other spectators, but of the officers also, who,
besides being in duty bound to express their admiration of all the
magistrate did, participated in the general dislike of Old Lucas, as
the persons best acquainted with his perjury and villany.
The friends once again bade the magistrate good morning, and soon
afterwards dispersed to their several homes. They heard next day that
Old Lucas, after having been under lock and key for six hours, the
whole of which time he devoted to howls and imprecations, paid the
fine. A few hours after he was set at liberty, he wrote a very penitent
letter to Grimaldi, expressing his great regret for what had occurred,
and his readiness to pay for the spoiled shirt and waistcoat, upon
being made acquainted with the amount of damage done. Grimaldi thought
it better to let the matter remain where it did, thinking that, setting
the broken nose against the torn shirt and waistcoat, Lucas was already
sufficiently punished.
And after this, "Old Lucas" never did anything more terrible, connected
with the Sadler's Wells company, at least, and, there is reason to
believe, shortly afterwards lost his situation. Whether he did so or
not is no great matter, further than that he appears to have been
a most unfit personage to have been intrusted with any species of
authority.
From this time forward, for several months, all went merry as a
marriage bell. On the 11th of May following the little adventure just
recorded, the marriage bell went too, for he was married to Miss Maria
Hughes, at St. George's, Hanover-square, with the full consent and
approbation of the young lady's parents, and to the unbounded joy of
his own mother, by whom she had been, from her earliest youth, beloved
as her daughter.
Five days after the wedding, the young couple paid their first visit to
Mr. and Mrs. Hughes. After sitting a short time, Grimaldi left his wife
there and went to the theatre, where a rehearsal in which he was wanted
had been called for that morning. Upon entering the yard of Sadler's
Wells, in which the different members of the company were strolling
about until the rehearsal commenced, he was accosted by Richer, with,
"Joe, may I inquire the name of the lady with whom I saw you walking
just now?"
"Nay, you need not ask him," cried Dubois; "I can tell you. It was Miss
Maria Hughes."
"I beg your pardon," interrupted Grimaldi; "that is not the lady's
name."
"No!" exclaimed Dubois. "Why, I could have sworn it was Miss Hughes."
"You would have sworn wrong, then," replied he. "The lady's name _was_
Hughes once, I grant; but on Friday last I changed it to Grimaldi."
His friends were greatly surprised at this intelligence; but they lost
no time in disseminating it throughout the theatre. Congratulations
poured in upon him; and so great was the excitement occasioned by the
fact of "Joe Grimaldi's marriage" becoming known, that the manager,
after vainly endeavouring to proceed with the rehearsal, gave up the
task, and dismissed the company for that morning. In the evening
they had a supper at the theatre to commemorate the event; and on
the following Sunday, Joe gave a dinner to the carpenters of the
theatre, for the same purpose. In the long-run all the members of
the establishment, from the highest to the lowest, participated in
the long-expected happiness of their single-hearted and good-natured
comrade.
In the summer of this year, he lost a guinea wager in a somewhat
ludicrous manner--in a manner sufficiently ludicrous to justify in
this place the narration of the joke which gave rise to it. He was
acquainted at that time with a very clever and popular writer, who
happened to have occasion to pass through Gravesend on the same day
as Joe had to go there; and, as they met shortly before, they agreed
to travel in a post-chaise and share the expense between them. They
arranged to start early in the morning, as Grimaldi had to play at
Sadler's Wells at night, and did so.
The journey was very pleasant, and the hours passed quickly away. His
companion, who was a witty and humorous fellow, was in great force upon
the occasion, and, exerting all his powers, kept him laughing without
intermission. About three miles on the London side of Dartford, the
friend, whose buoyant and restless spirits prevented his sitting in
any one position for a minute, began incessantly poking his head out
of one or other of the chaise windows, and making various remarks on
the landscape, and the persons or vehicles passing to and fro. While
thus engaged, he happened to catch sight of a man on horseback, about a
quarter of a mile behind, who was travelling in the same direction with
themselves, and was coming up after the chaise at a rapid pace.
"Look, Joe!" he said; "see that fellow behind! Well mounted, is he not?"
Grimaldi looked back, and saw the man coming along at a fast trot. He
was a stout, hearty fellow, dressed like a small farmer, as he very
probably was, and was riding a strong horse, of superior make, good
pace, and altogether an excellent roadster.
"Yes, I see him," was his reply. "He's well enough, but I see nothing
particular about him or the horse either."
"Nor is there anything particular about either of them that I am aware
of," answered his companion; "but wouldn't you think, judging from the
appearance of his nag, and the rate at which he is riding, that he
would pass our chaise in a very short time?"
"Most unquestionably; he will pass us in a few seconds."
"I'll tell you what, Joe, I'll bet you a guinea he does not," said the
friend.
"Nonsense!"
"Well, will you take it?"
"No, no; it would be robbing you."
"Oh, leave me to judge about that," said the friend; "I shall not
consider it a robbery: and, so far from that, I'm willing to make the
bet more in your favour.--Come, I'll bet you a guinea, Joe, that that
man don't pass our chaise between this and Dartford."
"Done!" said Grimaldi, well knowing that, unless some sudden and most
unaccountable change took place in the pace at which the man was
riding, he must pass in a minute or two--"done!"
"Very good," said the other.--"Stop--I forgot: remember that if you
laugh or smile, so that he can see you, between this and Dartford, you
will have lost. Is that agreed?"
"Oh, certainly," replied Grimaldi, very much interested to know by what
mode his friend proposed to win the wager,--"certainly."
He did not remain very long in expectation: the horseman drew nearer
and nearer, and the noise of his horse's feet was heard close behind
the chaise, when the friend, pulling a pistol from his pocket, suddenly
thrust his head and shoulders out of the window and presented the
pistol full at the face of the unconscious countryman, assuming at the
same time a ferocious countenance and menacing air which were perfectly
alarming. Grimaldi was looking through the little window at the back
of the chaise, and was like to die with laughter when he witnessed the
effect produced by this singular apparition.
The countryman was coming along at the same hard trot, with a very
serious and business-like countenance, when, all of a sudden, half a
man and the whole of a pistol were presented from the chaise window;
which he no sooner beheld, than all at once he pulled up with a jerk
which almost brought him into a ditch, and threw the horse upon his
haunches. His red face grew very pale, but he had the presence of
mind to pat his beast on the neck and soothe him in various ways,
keeping his eyes fixed on the chaise all the time and looking greatly
astonished. After a minute or so, he recovered himself, and, giving
his horse the spur, and a smart cut in the flank with his riding-whip,
dashed across the road, with the view of passing the chaise on the
opposite side. The probability of this attempt had been foreseen,
however, by the other party, for with great agility he transferred
himself to the other window, and, thrusting out the pistol with the
same fierce and sanguinary countenance as before, again encountered
the farmer's gaze; upon which he pulled up, with the same puzzled and
frightened expression of countenance, and stared till his eyes seemed
double their natural size.
[Illustration: George Cruikshank
_The Wager._]
The scene became intensely droll. The countryman's horse stood stock
still; but as the chaise rolled on, he gradually suffered him to fall
into a gentle trot, and, with an appearance of deep perplexity, was
evidently taking council with himself how to act. Grimaldi had laughed
in a corner till he was quite exhausted, and seeing his guinea was
fairly lost, determined to aid the joke. With this view, he looked
out of the vacant window, and, assuming an authoritative look, nodded
confidentially to the horseman, and waved his hand as if warning him
not to come too near. This caution the countryman received with much
apparent earnestness, frequently nodding and waving his hand after
the same manner, accompanying the pantomime with divers significant
winks, to intimate that he understood the gentleman was insane, and
that he had accidentally obtained possession of the dangerous weapon.
Grimaldi humoured the notion of his being the keeper, occasionally
withdrawing his head from the window to indulge in peals of laughter.
The friend, bating not an inch of his fierceness, kept the pistol
pointed at the countryman; and the countryman followed on behind at
an easy pace on the opposite side of the road, continuing to exchange
most expressive pantomime with one of its best professors, and to
reciprocate, as nearly as he could, all the nods and winks and shrugs
with which Grimaldi affected to deplore the situation of his unhappy
friend. And so they went into Dartford. When they reached the town, the
friend resumed his seat, and Grimaldi paid the guinea. The instant the
pistol barrel was withdrawn, the countryman set spurs to his horse, and
scoured through the town to the great astonishment of its inhabitants,
at full gallop.
The success of this guinea wager put the friend upon telling a story
of a wager of Sheridan's which was much talked of at the time, and ran
thus:--
George the Fourth, when Prince of Wales, used occasionally to spend
certain hours of the day in gazing from the windows of a club-house in
St. James's-street:--of course he was always surrounded by some of his
chosen companions, and among these Sheridan, who was then the Drury
Lane lessee, was ever first and foremost. The Prince and Sheridan in
these idle moments had frequently remarked among the passers backwards
and forwards, a young woman who regularly every day carried through the
street a heavy load of crockery-ware, and who, the Prince frequently
remarked, must be possessed of very great strength and dexterity to be
able to bear so heavy a burden with so much apparent ease, and to carry
it in the midst of such a crowd of passengers without ever stumbling.
One morning, as usual, she made her appearance in the street from
Piccadilly, and Sheridan called the Prince's attention to the
circumstance.
"Here she is," said Sheridan.
"Who?" inquired the Prince.
"The crockery-girl," replied Sheridan; "and more heavily laden than
ever."
"Not more so than usual, I think," said the Prince.
"Pardon me, your Highness, I think I'm right. Oh, dear me, yes! it's
decidedly a larger basket, a much larger basket," replied Sheridan.
"Good God, she staggers under it! Ah! she has recovered herself. Poor
girl, poor girl!"
The Prince had watched the girl very closely, but the symptoms of
exhaustion which Sheridan had so feelingly deplored were nevertheless
quite invisible to him.
"She will certainly fall," continued Sheridan, in a low abstracted
tone; "that girl will fall down before she reaches this house."
"Pooh, pooh!" said the Prince. "_She_ fall!--nonsense! she is too well
used to it."
"She will," said Sheridan.
"I'll bet you a cool hundred she does not," replied the Prince.
"Done!" cried Sheridan.
"Done!" repeated his Royal Highness.
The point of the story is, that the girl _did fall down just before
she reached the club-house_. It was very likely an accident, inasmuch
as people seldom fall down on purpose, especially when they carry
crockery; but still there were not wanting some malicious persons who
pretended to trace the tumble to another source. At all events, it was
a curious coincidence, and a strong proof of the accuracy of Sheridan's
judgment in such matters, any way.
The friend told this story while they were changing horses, laughing
very much when he had finished, as most people's friends do: and, as
if it had only whetted his appetite for fun, at once looked out for
another object on whom to exercise his turn for practical joking. The
chaise, after moving very slowly for some yards, came to a dead stop
behind some heavy waggons which obstructed the road. This stoppage
chanced to occur directly opposite the principal inn, from one of the
coffee-room windows of which, on the first floor, a gentleman was
gazing into the street. He was a particularly tall, big man, wearing a
military frock and immense mustachios, and eyeing the people below with
an air of much dignity and grandeur. The jester's eyes no sooner fell
upon this personage than he practised a variety of devices to attract
his attention, such as coughing violently, sneezing, raising the window
of the chaise and letting it fall again with a great noise, and tapping
loudly at the door. At length he clapped his hands and accompanied
the action with a shrill scream; upon which the big man looked down
from his elevation with a glare of profound scorn, mingled with some
surprise. Their eyes no sooner met, than the man in the chaise assumed
a most savage and unearthly expression of countenance, which gave him
all the appearance of an infuriated maniac. After grimacing in a manner
sufficiently uncouth to attract the sole and undivided attention of
the big man, he suddenly produced the pistol from his pocket, and,
pretending to take a most accurate aim at the warrior's person, cocked
it and placed his hand upon the trigger.
The big man's face grew instantly blanched; he put his hands to his
head, made a step, or rather stagger back, and instantly disappeared,
having either fallen or thrown himself upon the floor. The friend put
his pistol in his pocket without the most remote approach to a smile
or the slightest change of countenance, and Grimaldi sank down to the
bottom of the chaise nearly suffocated with laughter.
At Gravesend they parted, the friend going on in the same chaise to
Dover, and Grimaldi, after transacting the business which brought him
from town, returning to play at the theatre at night; all recollection
even of the "Dartford Blues" fading as he passed through the town in
his way home, before the exploits of his merry friend, which afforded
him matter for diversion until he reached London.
FOOTNOTES:
[24] In St. John Street Road.