1807
The mystery is cleared up, chiefly through the instrumentality of
Mr. Alderman Harmer; and the characters of the six Ladies and
the six Gentlemen are satisfactorily explained. The Trial of
Mackintosh for Burglary--Its result.
About three weeks had elapsed since the last dinner in
Throgmorton-street, during the whole of which time nothing had been
seen or heard either of the six ladies or of the six gentlemen, when,
as Grimaldi was sitting reading in his parlour, a strange gentleman was
shown into the room. As he was accustomed to be waited upon by many
people of whom he knew nothing, he requested the gentleman to take a
chair, and after a few commonplace remarks upon the weather and the
papers, begged to ask his business with him.
"Why, my business with you, Mr. Grimaldi," said the stranger, putting
down his hat, as if he had come to stop a long time, "is of a very
peculiar nature. Perhaps I had better commence by telling you who I am.
My name is Harmer."
"Harmer?" said Grimaldi, running over in his mind all the theatrical
names he had ever heard.
"Mr. James Harmer, of Hatton Garden. The reason of my waiting upon you
is this,--I wish to speak to you upon a very disagreeable affair."
There was a peculiar solemnity in the visitor's manner, although it
was very gentlemanly and quiet, which at once threw Grimaldi into
a state of great nervous excitement. He entreated him, with a very
disturbed countenance, to be kind enough to explain the nature of the
communication he had to make, as explicitly as he could.
"To come, then, at once to the point," said Mr. Harmer,--"do you not
know a person of the name of Mackintosh?"
"Yes, certainly," replied Grimaldi, his thoughts flying off at a
tangent, first to Throgmorton-street, and then to the ladies and
gentlemen in Charlotte-street--"oh yes, I know him."
"He is now," said Mr. Harmer, solemnly, "in great danger of losing his
life."
Grimaldi at once supposed his visitor was a doctor, said he was very
sorry to hear it, asked how long he had been ill, and begged to know
what was the matter with him.
"His bodily health is good enough," replied Mr. Harmer, with a
half-smile. "In the course of my professional career, Mr. Grimaldi, I
have known many men in imminent danger of losing their lives, who have
been in most robust health."
Grimaldi bowed his head, and presumed his visitor referred to cases
in which the patient had gone off suddenly. Mr. Harmer said that he
certainly did, and that he had strong reason to fear Mr. Mackintosh
would go off one morning very suddenly indeed.
"I greatly regret to hear it," said the other. "But pray tell me his
condition without reserve: you may safely be communicative to me. What
is the nature of the disorder? what is it called?"
"Burglary," answered Mr. Harmer, quaintly.
"Burglary!" exclaimed Grimaldi, trembling from head to foot.
"Nothing less," replied Mr. Harmer. "The state of the case, Mr.
Grimaldi, is simply this: Mackintosh is accused of having committed a
burglary at Congleton, in Cheshire. I am a solicitor, and am engaged on
his behalf; the evidence against him is very strong, and if he be found
guilty, which I must say appears to me extremely likely, he will most
infallibly be hanged."
This intelligence so amazed Grimaldi, that he fell into a chair
as if he had been shot, and it was some little time before he was
sufficiently recovered to resume the conversation. The moment he could
do so, he hastened to explain that he had never supposed Mackintosh to
be other than an honest man, or he would carefully have shunned all
acquaintance with him.
"He has been anything but an honest man for a long time past," said
Mr. Harmer: "still, I may say that he is anxious to reform; and at all
events, I am certain that this particular robbery was not committed by
him."
"Good God! and he still likely to be hung for it!"
"Certain," said Mr. Harmer; "unless we can prove an _alibi_. There
is only one man who has it in his power to do so; and that man, Mr.
Grimaldi, is yourself."
"Then," said Mr. Grimaldi, "you may command me."
In a lengthened and, to him, very interesting conversation which
ensued, he learned that the robbery had been committed on the 13th of
March, on the very night on which he had played for Lund's benefit at
Woolwich, and afterwards supped with Mackintosh and his friends. This
accidental circumstance was of course of the last importance to Mr.
Harmer's client, and that gentleman receiving a promise from Grimaldi
that he would, make an affidavit of the fact, if required, wished him a
good morning and left him.
Mackintosh being admitted to bail a few days afterwards, called upon
Grimaldi to express his gratitude for the readiness with which he
had consented to give his important evidence. The insight into the
man's character which Mr. Harmer had given him, rendered him of course
desirous to be as little in his company as possible; but as his
kind nature would not allow him to wound his feelings more than was
absolutely necessary in this interview (quite voluntary on his part),
immediately after the exposure, and as he was moreover very desirous to
put a few questions to him concerning the twelve ladies and gentlemen,
he dissembled his dislike, and placed some refreshment before him, of
which he partook. He then said,
"Mr. Mackintosh, I cannot suppose you to be guilty of any act of this
kind, for you have so many circumstances in your favour. Putting myself
out of the question,--I am merely an actor, working for my subsistence,
you can call, to prove your _alibi_, gentlemen of station and undoubted
respectability. Mr. Farmer and his friends, for instance, could not
fail to have great weight with the court."
A very perceptible change overspread the countenance of Mr. Mackintosh
when he heard these words. He shook his head with great vehemence, and
looked strongly disposed to laugh Grimaldi, who was one of the simplest
creatures in all worldly matters that ever breathed, paused for a
reply, but finding his acquaintance said nothing, added,
"Besides,--the ladies. Dear me, Mr. Mackintosh, the appearance of those
gentlemen's wives would be almost enough to acquit you at once."
"Mr. Grimaldi," said Mackintosh, with a slight tremor in his voice
which, despite his serious situation, arose from an incipient tendency
to laughter, "Mr. Grimaldi, none of those women are married."
Grimaldi stared incredulously.
"Not one," said Mackintosh: "they only pass for married people--they
are not really so."
"Then how," said Grimaldi, waxing very angry, "how dared you to invite
my wife among them, and induce me to take her there!"
"I'm very sorry, sir," said the man, humbly.
"I'll tell you what, sir," interposed the other, "I'll be put off no
longer: this is not the time for secrecy and falsehood, nor is it your
interest to tell me anything but the truth. Now, I demand to know at
once the real characters of these people, and why you shook your head
when I mentioned your bringing them forward as witnesses."
"Mr. Grimaldi," replied the man, with great apparent humility, "they
would not come if they were sent for; and besides, if they did, it
would injure, not assist me, for they are all marked men."
"Marked men!" exclaimed Grimaldi.
"Too true, sir," said Mackintosh; "desperate characters every one."
"What! Farmer?"
"He was sentenced to death at the Old Bailey, and got a reprieve while
standing on the drop beneath the gallows."
"And Williams?"
"Williams is a forger of notes."
"And Jesson?"
"He and Barber are both burglars."
"And the Jewish-looking man,--I forget the rascal's name,--the man who
sings Kelly's songs; what is he?"
"Oh, he helps to pass the forged notes, and has been three times in the
pillory."
"There is one other man whom I have not named--that fellow Jones; what
is he? a murderer?"
"No sir, only a burglar," answered Mackintosh. "Don't you recollect,
Mr. Grimaldi, that he would not join the party to Woolwich?"
"Perfectly well."
"Well, sir, the truth is, he left town for Cheshire the same day the
party was proposed, and he is the man who actually committed the deed
I am charged with. He did the robbery. I found it out only to-day;
but, though I know it, I can't prove it now:--and all those people in
Charlotte-street are doing their best to get me found guilty, and save
the real man, who is better liked among them than I am."
The enumeration of all these crimes, the reflection of having been
intimately associated with such wretches, and the fear of having
his innocence confounded with their guilt, quite overwhelmed their
unfortunate victim. He was thoroughly stupified for some minutes,
and then, starting up with uncontrollable fury, seized the man by
the throat and demanded how he durst take him among such a horde of
villains, under pretence of being his friend. Mackintosh, alarmed at
this unexpected ebullition of resentment, fell on his knees before him
in the most abject manner, and poured forth many entreaties for mercy,
and protestations of regret.
"Answer me one question," said Grimaldi, releasing his hold; "give me a
plain and straightforward answer, for it's only by telling me the truth
now, that you can hope for any leniency at my hands. What was your
motive for taking me into the company of these men and women, and why
did they want to have me among them?"
"I'll tell you the truth, by God!" replied Mackintosh, "and without
the smallest attempt at disguise. They thought you must be very good
company, and hearing me say that I knew you, gave me no rest until I
consented to take you to the house in Charlotte-street; which I at last
agreed to do, stipulating, upon my soul, that no harm should ever be
done you, and that their real characters should be carefully concealed.
You turned out as they expected; they were very much delighted with
your songs and stories, and I was obliged to promise to bring you
again. And that's the truth."
Although this explanation relieved him from some very terrible fears
relative to the motives of these persons in seeking his companionship,
it was a very galling reflection to have been playing the jester to
a gang of robbers and vagabonds; and as it presented itself to his
mind, it drove him almost mad with rage. Never accustomed to give way
to his passions, the fit of fury into which he had worked himself was
such that it was many hours before he recovered from its effects.
Mr. Mackintosh, with much wisdom, took himself off the moment his
confession was concluded.
About a week after this agreeable visit, Grimaldi was sitting at
breakfast one morning, when his servant announced a lady, and in
walked--as he sat paralysed with surprise--no less a person than Mrs.
Farmer, who, sitting down with great composure and freedom, said, when
the servant had left the room,
"Well, Grim, here's Jack Mackintosh has got himself into a pretty
hobble, hasn't he?"
"He has indeed," said Grim, all abroad with amazement "and I am very
sorry for it."
"Lord! you don't mean that!" returned the lady: "I'm sure it's more
than I am. Of course, it's everybody's turn one time; and Jack's had a
very long string."
It being now thoroughly evident that the party, deeming longer
concealment hopeless, wished to treat Grimaldi as one of themselves,
and to imply that he had been acquainted with their real characters
all along, he resolved to act decidedly; so, the moment the lady had
finished speaking, said,
"By some extraordinary mistake and blindness I have been led into the
society of yourself and your associates, ma'am. I regret this bitterly
for many reasons, but for two especially: first, that I should ever
have had acquaintance with such characters; and secondly, that it
compels me to act with apparent harshness to a woman. As I have no
other course to pursue, however, I beg you will have the goodness to
tell the ladies and gentlemen whom I have had the unhappiness to meet
in Charlotte-street, that I request them never to show their faces
here; and that I wish never to see, and certainly shall never speak to
any of them again."
The servant entering the room at this point, in reply to the summons he
had previously given, he continued,
"As soon as this person has rested herself after her walk, show her
to the door; and take care that you never admit her, or any of the
people who have been in the habit of coming here with her, into the
house again." With these words he quitted the room, as did the "lady"
immediately afterwards; and well pleased he was to be rid of her
society.
Sadler's Wells opened the season of 1807 with a new piece, called
the "Ogre," in which he enacted a character dignified by the name
of "Scamperino." This drama was not very successful, lingering only
through ten nights; but as he was wanted of course in something else,
and had every night to hurry to Covent Garden afterwards, to play the
clown in "Mother Goose," which was still running with unabated spirit,
he endured very great fatigue for more than three months, during which
the two theatres were open together.[40]
In the July of this year a very extraordinary circumstance occurred
at Sadler's Wells, which was the great topic of conversation in the
neighbourhood for some time afterwards. It happened thus:--
Captain George Harris, of the Royal Navy, who was related to the
Mr. Harris of Covent Garden, and with whom Grimaldi was slightly
acquainted, had recently returned to England after a long voyage. The
crew being paid off, many of the men followed their commander up to
London, and proceeded to enjoy themselves after the usual fashion of
sailors. Sadler's Wells was at that time a famous place of resort with
the blue-jackets, the gallery being sometimes almost solely occupied
by seamen and their female companions. A large body of Capt. Harris's
men resorted hither one night, and amongst them a man who was deaf
and dumb, and had been so for many years. This man was placed by his
shipmates in the front row of the gallery. Grimaldi was in great force
that night, and, although the audience were in one roar of laughter,
nobody appeared to enjoy his fun and humour more than this poor fellow.
His companions good-naturedly took a good deal of notice of him, and
one of them, who talked very well with his fingers, inquired how he
liked the entertainments; to which the deaf and dumb man replied,
through the same medium, and with various gestures of great delight,
that he had never seen anything half so comical before.
As the scene progressed, Grimaldi's tricks and jokes became still
more irresistible; and at length, after a violent peal of laughter
and applause which quite shook the theatre, and in which the dumb man
joined most heartily, he suddenly turned to his mate, who sat next to
him, and cried out with much glee, "What a d----d funny fellow!"
"Why, Jack," shouted the other man, starting back with great surprise:
"can you speak?"
"Speak!" returned the other; "ay, that I can, and hear, too."
Upon this the whole party, of course, gave three vehement cheers, and
at the conclusion of the piece adjourned in a great procession to
the "Sir Hugh Middleton," hard by, with the recovered man, elevated
on the shoulders of half a dozen friends, in the centre. A crowd of
people quickly assembled round the door, and great excitement and
curiosity were occasioned as the intelligence ran from mouth to mouth,
that a deaf and dumb man had come to speak and hear, all owing to the
cleverness of Joey Grimaldi.
The landlady of the tavern, thinking Grimaldi would like to see his
patient, told the man, that, if he would call next morning, he should
see the actor who had made him laugh so much. Grimaldi, being apprised
of the circumstance, repaired to the house at the appointed time, and
saw him, accompanied by several of his companions, all of whom still
continued to manifest the liveliest interest in the sudden change that
had happened to their friend, and kept on cheering, and drinking, and
treating everybody in the house, in proof of their gratification. The
man, who appeared an intelligent well-behaved fellow, said, that in the
early part of his life he could both speak and hear very well; and that
he had attributed his deprivation of the two senses to the intense heat
of the sun in the quarter of the world to which he had been, and from
which he had very recently returned. He added, that on the previous
evening he had for a long time felt a powerful anxiety to express his
delight at what was passing on the stage; and that, after some feat
of Grimaldi's which struck him as being particularly amusing, he had
made a strong effort to deliver his thoughts, in which, to his own
great astonishment, no less than that of his comrades, he succeeded.
Mr. Charles Dibdin, who was present, put several questions to the man;
and, from his answers, it appeared to every one present, that he was
speaking the truth. Indeed, his story was in some measure confirmed by
Captain Harris himself; for one evening, about six months afterwards,
as Grimaldi was narrating the circumstance in the green-room at Covent
Garden, that gentleman, who chanced to be present, immediately remarked
that he had no reason, from the man's behaviour while with him, to
suppose him an impostor, and that he had seen him on that day in the
full possession of all his senses.
In the month, of August following this circumstance, Grimaldi received
a subpoena to attend the trial of Mackintosh, at Stafford. He
immediately gave notice to the manager of Sadler's Wells, that he
was compelled to absent himself for a few days, and Bradbury, of the
Circus, was engaged to supply his place. Mr. Harmer and himself went
down together; and on the day following their arrival, a true bill
having been found against Mackintosh by the grand jury, the trial came
on.
Grimaldi forgets the name of the prosecutor's counsel,[41] and regrets
the circumstance very much, observing that the lengthened notice which
he bestowed upon him ought to have impressed his name on his memory.
If this notice were flattering on account of its length, it certainly
was not so in any other respect; inasmuch as the gentleman in question,
in the exercise of that licence which many practitioners unaccustomed
to briefs assume, was pleased to designate the principal witness
for the prisoner, to wit, Mr. Joseph Grimaldi, as a common player,
a mountebank-stroller, a man reared in and ever accustomed to vice
in its most repulsive and degrading forms--a man who was necessarily
a systematic liar--and, in fine, a man upon whose word or oath no
thinking person could place any reliance.
During this exordium, and pending the logical deductions of the
ingenious gentleman whose name is unhappily lost to his country, the
prisoner eyed his witness with intense anxiety, fearing, no doubt, that
in his examination, either by angry words, or by attempting to retort
on the counsel, or by volunteering jokes, or by seeking revenge upon
himself, against whom he had such just ground of complaint, he might
pass the rope round his neck, instead of serving his cause; but his
fears were needless. His witness had gone there to discharge what he
considered a solemn duty; and, apart from all personal considerations,
to give his honest testimony in a case involving a man's life and
death. He went there, of course, prepared to give his evidence in the
manner best befitting himself and the occasion; and, if he wanted any
additional incentive to caution and coolness, he would have found it in
the taunts of the opposing counsel, which naturally made him desirous
to show, by his behaviour, that the same man who could play the clown
upon a public stage could conduct himself with perfect propriety as a
private individual--in the same way as many young gentlemen, who are
offensive in wigs, become harmless and obscure in social life.
No fewer than nine witnesses were examined for the prosecution, all of
whom, to Grimaldi's astonishment and horror, swore positively to the
identity of the prisoner. The case for the prosecution being closed,
he was immediately put into the box, for the defence; when, after
stating that the prisoner was in his company at Woolwich, at the time
of the commission of the burglary, he proceeded to detail as briefly
as he could all that had happened on the day and night in question.
He carefully suppressed any extraneous matter that related to himself
or his own feelings, which might have been injurious to the prisoner,
and produced the playbill of the night, to prove that there could be
no mistake respecting the date. He was then submitted to a very long
and vexatious cross-examination, but he never lost his temper for an
instant, or faltered in his testimony in any way; and at its conclusion
he was well rewarded for his good feeling and impartiality, by the
highly flattering terms in which the presiding judge was pleased to
express his opinion of the manner in which he had conducted himself.[42]
His wife was the next witness called, and she fully corroborated his
evidence. Two more witnesses were examined on the same side, when the
judge interposed, putting it to the jury whether they really deemed
it necessary to hear any further evidence, and not hesitating to say
that the full conviction on his own mind was, that the witnesses for
the prosecution were mistaken, and that the prisoner at the bar was
innocent of the offence laid to his charge. The jury fully coincided in
the learned judge's opinion, and immediately returned a verdict of "Not
guilty," after a trial which had already lasted for upwards of nine
hours.
Previous to his return to town, on the following morning, Grimaldi
sought and obtained a few minutes' private conversation with
Mackintosh. In this interview, he used his utmost endeavours to awaken
his mind to a sense of his situation, to induce him to reflect on
the crimes he had committed, and to place before him the inevitable
consequences of his career if he held the same course; by all of
which remonstrances the man appeared much affected, and for which he
expressed himself very grateful. It was scarcely necessary for Grimaldi
to add, that any communication between them must be discontinued for
the future; but, lest his true repentance might be endangered by the
loss of the only friend he seemed to have, he gave him permission to
write to him if he ever needed his assistance, and assured him that
if it were in his power to relieve him, the appeal should never be
made in vain. It says something for the honour of human nature and the
sincerity of the man's repentance, that he never took undue advantage
of this permission, and, indeed, was never heard of by Grimaldi again.
The witness returned to town, as he had every reason to do, with a
light heart; and as he never heard any further intelligence either
of the half-dozen gentlemen, or the six Lucretias to whom he had so
unwittingly introduced his wife, he experienced no further trouble or
disquiet on this score.
FOOTNOTES:
[40] Sadler's Wells opened the season of 1807 on Easter Monday, March
30th, with a new pantomime, entitled "Jan Ben Jan, or Harlequin and
the Forty Virgins." Ridgway made his first appearance as Harlequin,
Bologna, jun., having seceded from the theatre. Among other debutants
on that night, was Pyne, the singer, as also Mrs. M'Cartney, who
subsequently became Mrs. Pyne. Grimaldi, as usual, was clown in the
pantomime, which had a long and successful run. In the scene of the
interior of Pidcock's menagerie, at Exeter 'Change, he spoke and sang
"The Exhibitor's Chant," which became highly popular. The journalists
of that time were of one accord; the inimitable drolleries of the
clown were the principal cause of the crowded lobbies and the scarcely
standing room on every night of the performance.
[41] The late Mr. Dauncey.
[42] The gentleman who first revised Grimaldi's reminiscences adds the
following note in this stage of the Memoirs: "That Mr. Grimaldi has
not unworthily commended his own conduct in this instance, no one who
has heard him speak in public will be disposed to believe. His manner
was always that of a man who, while he entertained a just respect for
himself, properly respected the parties to whom he addressed himself.
This was strikingly exemplified whenever, in consequence of the sudden
illness of a performer, or some other stage mishap, an apology became
necessary; on which occasions he would step forward, and announcing the
calamity, claim the kindness of the audience with so much gentlemanly
ease, and such an entire absence of all buffoonery or grimace, that, in
spite of his grotesque dress and appearance, and the associations which
they necessarily awakened, the audience forgot the clown, and only
remembered the gentleman."
APPENDIX TO CHAPTER XIII.
AN INTERPOLATION.
The facts relating to Grimaldi's connexion with John Mackoull, _alias_
Mackintosh, are the following:--
Mackoull, during two years previous to Michaelmas, 1804, was a
publican; he kept the George Inn, at Hayes, in Kent; and, in his
own words, in his "Abuses of Justice," mentions the following
particulars:--"In justice to Mr. Grimaldi, I will shortly state the
commencement and nature of our acquaintance. I saw him for the first
time as a guest at my house at Hayes, where, from the attention I paid
him and his friends, he visited me several times.
"Shortly after I came to London, I accidentally met him, and invited
him and his wife to dine with me. The invitation was accepted, and
he in turn invited me and my wife to dine; indeed, the whole of our
acquaintance consisted in several times mutually dining at each other's
houses."
Mackoull lived in White Lion-court, in Throgmorton-street, and the
occasional intimacy appears to have continued till 1807, in which
year, on March 13th, Lund had a benefit at the Woolwich Theatre, when
the Bolognas, Grimaldi, and Norman, were to enact Don Juan. Mackoull
accompanied John Bologna from London to Woolwich on the morning of
the 13th; the performances went off well at night, and the whole
party continued there till two o'clock in the afternoon of the 14th,
when Mackoull left, Grimaldi having promised to dine with him on the
Wednesday following.
It so happened, that on the night of the 12th of March, or on the
morning of the 13th, the Edinburgh mail-coach was robbed of a parcel,
forwarded by the Newark bank to Messrs. Kensington, of Lombard-street.
The parcel contained bank-notes and bills to the amount of 4500_l._,
payable in London; and was, as afterwards transpired, stolen by a man,
then travelling in the mail, named Treble, who, to avoid hanging,
destroyed himself. A returned transport, named Duffield, received
the bills, and a strolling player, named John Knight, who, under the
assumed name of Warren, at Salisbury and other places enacted Othello,
and other principal characters. He became the negotiator of some of
the bills by forging or indorsing them in his own theatrical name of
Warren, and contrived to discount one at Burton-upon-Trent, on March
17th; another at Uttoxeter, on the 18th; a third at Congleton, on the
19th; and a fourth at Wirksworth, on the 20th. Information that some
of these bills had been discounted at the above principal banks having
transpired, and a description of the person who had negotiated them
being transmitted, Mackoull's personal appearance was extremely similar
to that of the delinquent described; and he was apprehended accordingly
at his house in White Lion-court, on April 3rd, taken to the Brown
Bear, in Bow-street, and on that evening charged at Bow-street with
felony, having robbed the mail, and with forgery of the indorsements
on the bills asserted to have been negotiated by him. He was remanded
to the 8th, on which day Mackoull was again placed at the bar, Mr.
Alley as his counsel, and Mr. Harmer also appearing in his defence.
But it was not until the third hearing, on the 11th, that specific
charges were made against him, and he was sworn to be the person who
had obtained the money for the bill discounted at the Congleton bank on
March 19th. Mackoull, being in possession of the charge, was enabled,
to prove an _alibi_ most satisfactorily, as Grimaldi and his wife
had dined with him on the 18th of March. Mrs. Grimaldi had left them
at five o'clock, to sustain her part in the Oratorio that evening at
Covent Garden Theatre, and Joe had remained with Mackoull till eleven
that night; it was therefore clear that he was not the person who had
negotiated the bills, nor was he the party who had robbed the mail, as
he had evidence in John and Louis Bologna, Grimaldi, Norman, and many
others; for he was then with them at Woolwich. These circumstances
being named by Mackoull to Mr. Harmer, he undertook to wait upon Mr.
and Mrs. Grimaldi, which it would seem he did on the Sunday, as on the
Monday, April 13th, being Mackoull's fourth examination, Mr. Alley
proposed offering a satisfactory _alibi_ to the charge; but, as all
the witnesses had not been conferred with, desired leave to bring
them forward on the following day. It is tolerably certain that Mr.
Harmer had seen Grimaldi and his wife on Sunday, for Alley mentioned
them, amongst others, as witnesses whom he should bring forward on
the Tuesday; and till the 11th, Mackoull was not in possession of the
particular charge against him.
Mackoull states that Mr. Harmer undertook to wait upon Mr. and Mrs.
Grimaldi, both of whom recollected perfectly the day on which they
had dined with Mackoull, previous to Mr. Harmer's apprising them with
his reasons for the inquiry: both spontaneously proffered to prove
the fact, before the magistrates, or otherwise, if required; hence
Mr. Alley's intimation to the magistrates on the 13th, on which day
a young man, named Millar, son of the police-constable, and then an
under clerk at Bow-street Office, went personally to Grimaldi, and
endeavoured to persuade him not to appear on the following day before
the magistrates; and insinuated he had no object in interfering but
a regard for Mr. Grimaldi, and the interest that he felt for his
reputation. Joe was, however, not to be deterred or intimidated from
publicly asserting what he knew to be true--more particularly, as he
learned that the life of a fellow-creature was at stake; and contrary
to this stripling's expectation and wishes, he attended at Bow-street,
before the magistrates, Messrs. Read and Graham, on the 14th, giving
in evidence the facts already stated. Two points of _alibi_ were fully
established by Joe. Mackoull had not committed the robbery, with which
he was in the first instance charged, because John and Louis Bologna,
Grimaldi, and Norman, and many others, could and did swear that he was
with them at Woolwich at the time the robbery was effected; and as to
his being the person who had been the negotiator of the bills from
the 17th to the 20th of March, Grimaldi's evidence was not single,
and was therefore indisputable; but Mr. Kensington's professional
adviser, having a wealthy plaintiff as a client, abetted his reluctance
to believe Mackoull had been erroneously charged and sworn to. On
the 13th, former witnesses had sworn most positively to the personal
identity of Mackoull. He was the man who had negotiated the bills,
notwithstanding the evidence offered in support of the _alibi_. The
obstinacy of the banker Kensington made matters still worse, and
Mackoull was criminally charged with five offences in the several towns
and places named; four of them were capital, and a conviction on either
would have involved the forfeiture of his life.
A further hearing was deferred till April 23rd, when Grimaldi and his
wife again attended, and swore to the truth of their allegations:
bail was tendered, offering full guarantee for Mackoull's appearance
when required, but in vain; the influence of the Lombard-street
firm was paramount; bail, however unobjectionable, was refused; and
again was Mackoull remanded. On the 27th, he was brought up, as he
supposed, to be admitted on bail; but no; it was for his committal to
Newgate, preparatory to his trial at the ensuing Stafford assizes,--so
pertinaciously had his prosecutors driven matters, that there seemed no
escape for him. Application was, however, made to Sir Soulden Lawrence,
one of the judges in the King's Bench, and on the affidavits of Joseph
Grimaldi and his wife Mary Grimaldi, was Mackoull immediately enlarged.
Mackoull may now speak for himself:--
"Two or three days previous to the assizes, my witnesses, Mr. Harmer,
and myself; in all eighteen persons, left London for Stafford; my
mind filled with the most gloomy apprehensions. When we arrived at
Lichfield, Mr. Harmer determined to finish the briefs before he went on
to Stafford. Every circumstance they could really prove was known to
myself and my solicitor; he had a plain statement of facts to narrate,
and though it ran to a considerable length the brief was drawn, and two
copies made nearly in one day, in the following manner. As soon as Mr.
Harmer had drawn a paragraph it was handed to Mr. Grimaldi, who [read
or] dictated, and myself, and a young man we procured in the town wrote
the fair copies for counsel.
"Early in the morning of the commission day, Mr. Harmer and myself
went on to Stafford, leaving my witnesses to follow. Mr. Grimaldi was
the first witness called on my behalf; he stated exactly what had
been set forth in his affidavit, and the solemn manner in which he
gave his testimony carried conviction, and made a lively impression
upon every one present. He underwent the most strict examination; but
the more he was questioned, the more apparent was the truth of his
evidence; and those who expected to see the zany disgracing himself by
his buffoonery, beheld him deliver his evidence with a firmness, which
could only arise from conscious rectitude; yet still with that caution
and dignity which should characterize every honest man, when asserting
the cause of truth under the awful obligation of an oath.
"I should here perhaps mention, that I felt some apprehension, lest
the prosecutor's Counsel should endeavour, in the cross-examination
of Mr. Grimaldi, to throw him off his guard, by insinuating that his
acquaintance with me was disreputable, and exert their abilities to
make him appear ridiculous; therefore, on our way down, I hinted my
fears, and begged him, for God's sake, to keep his temper, to answer
every question with calmness and propriety, and not to be irritated
by any interrogatories of counsel; to which he answered, 'Whatever
were your transactions previous to my acquaintance I know not; but
certainly I never observed anything improper in your conduct; nor did
I, till this unfortunate affair, hear anything to your disadvantage:
but admitting you to be the vilest character on earth, I am bound, as a
man and a Christian, to speak the truth; and I should consider myself
highly culpable if I withheld my testimony, when, by giving it, I might
prevent an innocent man from losing his life. I am going to assert
nothing but the truth, to do which can dishonour no man. I assure you I
am too much impressed with a sense of your unfortunate situation to be
otherwise than serious; and I trust those who hear me will be properly
satisfied, that I know my duty when giving testimony in a court of
justice, as well as when performing before an audience at a public
theatre.' These were his observations, and he fully verified them.
"Mrs. Grimaldi was next called, and confirmed the testimony of her
husband in every particular.
"Mr. Dauncey, the counsel for the prosecution, in his opening speech,
had mentioned that I kept houses of a certain description, and
endeavoured to impress the minds of the jury with a belief that no
credit was to be given to any witness who could visit or associate with
me. He even said it was material to consider whether I and my witnesses
were not guilty of a foul conspiracy to defeat justice; and in order
to lessen the effect of Mr. and Mrs. Grimaldi's evidence, they were
interrogated by the prosecutor's counsel as to their knowledge of my
keeping disorderly houses, which they most positively, and with truth,
denied.
"Mr. Justice Graham, in addressing the jury, told them he conceived
they must entertain the same opinion with himself, that the witnesses
for the prosecution had mistaken Mackoull for the person who had
committed the offences, and if so, it would be unnecessary for him to
sum up the evidence. The jury instantly expressed their concurrence
with the opinion of the judge; and, after a trial of nine hours,
Mackoull was pronounced--Not guilty.
"How impotent now appeared the whole phalanx of my opponent. During the
examination of Mr. and Mrs. Grimaldi, young Millar was in the outer
hall taunting the rest of my witnesses. He said 'he should soon do away
with their evidence, and that, when he was called, it would be all over
with me.' When Mrs. Grimaldi came out of court he personally insulted
her.
"Notwithstanding the satisfactory manner in which my innocence was
established, my acquittal was attributed to base and unworthy means.
It was said that Grimaldi was, no doubt, well paid for perjuring
himself. The reputation of Mr. Grimaldi is so well established, that
he cannot be affected by the gross slanders circulated respecting his
evidence. He is well known to be incapable of a dishonourable action;
and far from being paid to give false testimony, he was a loser of his
salary for the time he was absent, It is true, I offered to pay him the
amount, but he generously declined accepting it, saying, he felt the
injuries I had suffered, and would not add to my distress by receiving
a shilling.
"Facts have their point-marks as pleasurable as the enspanglements of
fable."