1809.
His Adventure on Highgate Hill, and its consequences.
It was a fine, clear night; there was no moon, but the stars were
shining brightly; the air was soft and fresh, and very pleasant after
the heat of the day. Grimaldi drove on at a quicker pace than usual,
fearing that they might be alarmed at home by his being so late, and
having just heard some distant clock strike the three quarters after
eleven. Suddenly the horse stopped.
Near the spot was a ridge across the road for the purpose of draining
the fields on the higher side, forming a little hollow, which in the
summer was dry, and in the winter generally full of mud. The horse knew
it well, being accustomed to pause there for a minute, to cross the
ditch slowly, and then to resume his usual trot. Bending forward to
assure himself that he had arrived at this part of the road, Grimaldi
heard a low whistle, and immediately afterwards three men darted out of
a hedge. One seized the horse's bridle, and the two others rushed up,
one to each side of the gig; then, presenting pistols, they demanded
his money.
Grimaldi sat for a moment quite incapable of speaking, the surprise had
come so suddenly upon him; but hearing the cocking of a pistol close
beside him, he roused himself, and seeing that he had no chance against
three armed men, cried,
"Mercy, gentlemen, mercy!"
"You wont be hurt," said the man on his left, "so long as you give your
money directly."
"No, no," said the man at the horse's head, "you wont be hurt. Your
money is what we want."
"You shall have it," he answered; "but I expect you not to injure me."
He fumbled at his pocket for his purse, and while doing so looked
narrowly at the persons by whom he was attacked. They all wore black
crape over their faces, so that not a feature was discernible, and were
clad in very large black frocks. The disguises were complete: it was
impossible to make out anything of their appearance.
"Look sharp!" said the left-hand man; "the money!--come, we can't stay
here."
Grimaldi extricated the purse, and handed it to the speaker. The man at
the horse's head looked sharply on, and cried,
"Tom, what has he given you?"
"His purse," was the reply.
"That wont do," said the man. "You have more money about you; I know
you have: come, hand over, will ye?"
"I have not, indeed," replied Grimaldi. "Sometimes I carry a little in
my pocket-book; but to-night I forgot to bring it with me."
"You have more money with you, and you know it," said the man who held
the bridle: "you have got a bank-note in your left-hand waistcoat
pocket."
The circumstance had really escaped Grimaldi's memory; but, being
reminded of it, he drew forth the note, and delivered it to the man to
whom he had resigned his purse.
"It's all right, Tom," said the man on his right; "we had better be off
now."
As the man spoke, he moved round the back of the gig, as if with the
intention of going away. It was the first time he had uttered a word,
and his voice struck Grimaldi as being a familiar one, though he could
not, in his confusion, recollect where or when he had heard it. He
had no time to reflect on the matter, for the man at the horse's head
demanded of the man on his left whether he had got his watch.
"No," said the fellow, "I forgot his watch. Give it here!" With these
words he again raised his pistol, which had been all this time, and
still was, on full cock.
Grimaldi gave it up, but not without a sigh, for it was the very
watch which had been presented to him with his own portrait on the
dial-plate. As he put it into the man's hand, he said,
"If you knew who I am, you would not treat me in this manner."
"Oh, we know you well enough, Mr. Grimaldi," said the man at the reins;
"we have been waiting for you these three nights, and began to think
you would not come to-night."
The other men laughed, and the man whose voice had struck him,
recommended his companion to give the watch back again.
"Oh yes, I dare say!" said the man, with a sneer, who held the horse.
"Well, I don't know," said the fellow who had been addressed as Tom; "I
don't think it's worth a couple of pounds."
"No, no, it is not; and besides, I say he shall have it again," cried
the man, whose voice, familiar at first, now seemed perfectly well
known to Grimaldi. "Here!" He snatched the watch from his comrade's
hand, who made no effort to retain it, and handed it into the gig.
Grimaldi gladly received it back; but, in the act of doing so, he saw
that the hand from which he took it had, or appeared to have, _but two
fingers upon it_.
The watch was no sooner returned than the robbers made off with great
rapidity, and he was once again alone, in a far greater state of alarm
and trepidation than when the robbers surrounded him. The revulsion
of feeling was so great, that he felt as if his existence depended
upon instant flight, and that his flight would be far more speedy if
he ran than if he rode. Acting upon the impulse of his disordered
nerves, he sprang at once out of the gig, but, not jumping sufficiently
high to clear it, was thrown, into the road, head foremost, with
great force, and struck his temple heavily against a flint. The blow
and the previous fright quite bewildered him, but did not render
him insensible; he was up again directly, and found himself, at the
expiration of some ten minutes, stopped by the patrol, to whom he was
well known. He had no recollection of running, but he had run for a
long distance, and the first thing he was conscious of, was the being
half-supported by this man, and receiving many eager inquiries what had
befallen him.
Grimaldi spoke as plainly as his agitation would permit, and related
what had passed.
"Just what I have expected to happen to somebody for these many
nights past," said the patrol. "Sir, I have watched those three men
repeatedly; it was only last night I warned 'em that I did not like to
see them loitering about my beat, and that if anything wrong happened I
should suspect them. Make your mind easy, sir; I know where they are to
be found, and I'll lay my life that in less than two hours I have them
safe."
"And what am I to do?" Grimaldi inquired.
"Nothing to-night, sir," was the patrol's reply; "I would only
recommend you to get home as fast as you can. At twelve o'clock
to-morrow, you attend at Bow Street; and if I don't show you the men, I
shall be as much surprised as you have been to-night."
The horse came up just then, having trotted on very composedly, with
the gig at his heels: taking the patrol's advice, Grimaldi got in, and
having promised to meet him next morning, made the best of his way
home, which he reached without further hindrance or interruption.
Grimaldi found his wife, as he had expected, very much terrified at
his being so late; nor were her fears allayed by his wild demeanour
and the appearance of the blow on his temple. To her hurried inquiries
he gave the best answers that occurred to him, and being unwilling to
give her any unnecessary alarm, merely remarked, that he had a fall
from his gig, which had made him giddy and uncomfortable. The pains he
afterwards took to keep the real truth from coming to her knowledge
were infinite. Every newspaper that came into the house he carefully
searched, to ascertain that it contained no paragraph relative to the
robbery; and so successful were his precautions, that she had not the
least inkling of the circumstance until more than two years afterwards,
upon their giving up the cottage at Finchley, and returning to town;
when her first exclamation was, "Oh, Joe, if I had only known this at
the time, I never could have slept another night in Finchley!"
This was exactly what Grimaldi had supposed, and he was not a little
delighted to find that he had been enabled to remain during the whole
of that time in a place to which he was very much attached, and where,
in the society of his wife and child, he had spent some of the happiest
hours of his existence.
Grimaldi got very little sleep after the robbery, his thoughts turning
all night upon the distressing consequences it seemed likely to
involve. That Hamilton was one of the men, he felt pretty well sure:
the voice and defect in the left hand were strong proofs against
him. Added to this, there was other evidence, circumstantial, it is
true, but still very weighty. It was plain, from the knowledge which
one of the thieves possessed relative to the note, that he or some
one connected with him had been at the tavern in the earlier part of
the night, and had there closely watched his actions. The doubtful
character of Archer, and his suspicious looks and manner, had struck
him often; the thieves had been waiting three nights, and for three
nights Hamilton had been absent from his usual place of resort. The
more he thought of these things, the more sure he felt that Hamilton
was a highwayman: then came the reflection, that if, upon his evidence,
he was sentenced to death, it would most probably involve the fate of
his young wife, of whose meekness and gentleness he had seen so many
tokens. He tossed and tumbled through the night, meditating upon these
things over and over again; he rose the following morning feverish and
dejected, trusting the thieves might escape rather than that he should
be the means of bringing any of his fellow-creatures to a violent
death, or dooming others to living and hopeless wretchedness.
Pleading an early call to rehearsal as the reason for his going so
early to town, he left Finchley immediately after breakfast, and drove
to Bow-street, where he found the patrol already waiting. The moment he
caught sight of the man and observed the air with which he approached
to receive him, all the hopes which he had involuntarily nourished
evaporated, and he felt terrified at the thought that a capital
prosecution at the Old Bailey was certainly reserved for him.
"Well, sir," said the man, as he helped him out of the gig, "it's all
right. I have got three men, and I have no doubt they are the fellows."
Grimaldi's distress was redoubled, and he inquired, trembling, whether
any of the stolen property had been found upon them.
The man replied, with evident chagrin, he had not succeeded so far, and
therefore supposed they had got rid of the booty before he found them;
but if they were sworn to, they would be committed at once; and that
when it was known among their companions, he had little doubt but that
he should be able to trace out some evidence relative to the note. With
this brief preparation, he led Grimaldi at once into the presence of
the magistrate, to whom he recounted the particulars of the robbery,
hinting that as he had not been personally injured by the thieves, he
had no wish to prosecute if it could be avoided; an intimation to which
the patrol listened in high dudgeon, and which the magistrate appeared
to regard with some doubt, merely observing that the circumstance might
possibly be taken into consideration with a view to the mitigation of
punishment, but could not be urged or recognised at all, in that stage
of the proceedings.
The patrol was then examined, and, after stating in effect what he had
stated to Grimaldi on the previous night, deposed that he had taken
the prisoners into custody at a place which he named. The magistrate
inquired whether any of the stolen property had been found upon them or
traced, whether any such disguises as Mr. Grimaldi had described were
discovered in their possession, and whether any suspicious implements,
offensive or defensive, had been found upon them. To all these
questions, the patrol answered in the negative, and the magistrate then
ordered that Grimaldi should be taken to view the prisoners. He also
inquired if Grimaldi thought he should recognise them; who replied that
he had no doubt he should know one of the men.
Grimaldi was taken into another room, and the first person he saw
was, as he expected, George Hamilton himself: the other two prisoners
were perfect strangers to him. They had described themselves to the
magistrate as gentlemen; but he might have exclaimed, with young
Mirabel, "For gentlemen they have the most cut-throat appearance I ever
saw."
Hamilton behaved himself with great coolness and self-possession; he
advanced without the least appearance of agitation, and said,
"How do you do, Mr. Grimaldi? It is an odd circumstance, is it not,
that I should be charged with robbing an old friend like you? But
strange coincidences happen to all of us."
Composed as the man's manner was, if Grimaldi had entered the room
with any doubt of his guilt, it was at once and entirely dispelled.
The practised eye of an old actor was not so easily deceived. He had
evidently made a desperate effort to assume an easy confidence of
manner, knowing that upon the success with which he did so, depended
his only chance of escape from the gallows.
"Why, what's this!" said the gaoler, or turnkey, or whoever had
accompanied them to the room. "Do you know him, sir?"
"Yes," said Grimaldi, looking hard at Hamilton, "I know him very well."
"Well, then, sir, of course you can tell, whether _he_ is one of the
men who robbed you?"
The pause which ensued was of not more than two or three seconds'
duration, but it was a trying one to two of the parties present.
Hamilton looked as if he awaited the reply without fear, and acted
the innocent man boldly. The turnkey and constable turned away for
an instant to speak to each other; and as they did so, Grimaldi held
up his left hand, turning down two of the fingers in imitation of
Hamilton's, and shook his head gravely. The man instantly understood
his meaning, and saw that he was known. All his assumed fortitude
forsook him; his face became ashy pale, and his whole frame trembled
with inward agitation. It appeared as if he would have fallen on the
floor, but he rallied a little; and after bestowing a look of intense
supplication upon Grimaldi, laid his finger on his lip, and fixed his
eyes on the ground.
"Well, sir," said the patrol, "there they are; can you swear to them
all, or to any of them?"
A thousand thoughts crowded through Grimaldi's brain, but one was
uppermost the desire to save this young man, whom he strongly suspected
to be but a beginner in crime. After a moment's pause, he replied, that
he could not swear to any one of them.
"Then," said the turnkey to the patrol, with a meaning look, "either
you have gone upon a wrong scent altogether, or these chaps have had a
very narrow escape."
After informing the magistrate that it was not in his power to identify
the prisoners, Grimaldi hurried away. The men were discharged in the
course of the afternoon, and thus terminated the interview at the
police-office.
A day or two afterwards, Hamilton called at Grimaldi's house, and, in
a conversation with him, humbly acknowledged that he was one of the
men who had robbed him; that he had been incited to the act, partly
by an anxiety to acquire money faster than he could make it in trade,
and partly by the persuasions of his friend Archer; but that it was
his first attempt at crime, and should be his last. He thanked his
benefactor in the warmest and most grateful manner for his clemency;
and Grimaldi then acquainted him with the designs of Archer upon
his wife, severely reprobating the vicious habits which had led him
to abandon one by whose means he might have been rendered happy and
respectable, and saved from his guilty career, and leaving her exposed
to the insults of men inured to every species of villany and crime.
Hamilton assured him that neither his information nor his advice was
ill bestowed, and after a long interview they parted, he pouring forth
his thanks and promises of reformation, and Grimaldi repeating his
forgiveness and his admonitions.
Grimaldi had reason to hope that Hamilton kept his promise, and shrunk
from his old associates, for he resided nearly twenty years after that
period in Clerkenwell, carrying on a good business, and bearing the
reputation of an honest man.
At this time Grimaldi was in the habit of taking three benefits every
year; that is to say, two at Sadler's Wells, and one at Covent Garden.
Regularly on the morning of each of these occasions, for very many
years, some person called at his house for ten box-tickets, always
paying for them at the time, in exactly the amount required, and
leaving the house immediately, as if anxious to avoid notice. He was
in the constant habit of receiving anonymous remittances for tickets,
and therefore did not attach much importance to this circumstance,
although it struck him as being singular in one respect, inasmuch as
the greater part of his friends who took tickets for his Sadler's Wells
benefits, did not take them on his Covent Garden nights, and _vice
versâ_. The family became at last so used to it, that when they were
sorting tickets on the night before one of his benefits, his wife would
regularly say, "Don't forget to put ten on the mantelpiece for the
gentleman who calls early in the morning." This continued for perhaps
twelve years or more, when one day, as his servant was giving him the
money, paid as usual by the unknown person for his admissions, he
casually inquired of the girl what kind of person in appearance this
gentleman was.
"Oh, I really don't know, sir," she replied; "there is nothing
particular about him, except--"
"Well, except what?"
"Except, sir, that he has only got two fingers on his left hand."
The mystery was explained.
The fate of this man was truly pitiable. A neighbour's house having
taken fire, and being in imminent hazard of destruction, Hamilton
rushed in with several others to save some children who were in danger
of perishing in the flames. He darted up stairs through the smoke and
reached the second story. The instant he set his feet upon it, the
whole flooring gave way, and sank with him into the mass of glowing
fire below, from which his body, burnt to a cinder, was dug out some
days afterwards.