Miss Hannah Maria Bagwell, should find bail to keep the peace towards Mrs.
Margaret Bunce; and not being prepared with any, they followed the turnkey
to his stronghold, weeping as they went.
A SMALL TASTE OF JIMAKEY.
A new-booted, yellow-vested, blue-coated, red-headed, rosy-faced, buckish
young bricklayer, was brought up from the neighbourhood of
Cranford-bridge, charged by one _Tom Nagle_ with having robbed him, on the
King's highway, of ten shillings in money, and one bottle of "the best
_Jimakey_ rum."
Tom Nagle is an honest, hard-faced, sandy-whiskered Emeralder, who takes
out a drop of the rum or the whiskey, now and then, into the country, to
make an honest penny of that same. "It so happened that, one Tuesday
night, he went into the Queen's Head, at Cranford, with a bottle of the
best _Jimakey_ rum in his little basket. There was a lovely sweet fire in
the chimney, and the buckish young bricklayer was there sitting before it,
with a face like a full moon at the rising, and a yard-and-a-half
_backey_-pipe sticking out of the middle of it. And there was the
parish-clerk, and the blacksmith of Cranford, and many other jontlemen
_blowing_ their _steamers_, and taking their drops mighty convanient at
that same time. So Tom Nagle sat down amongst them, and _took his drops_
'mighty convanient' too. He drained off one pot of _heavy wet_,[24] and
then another, and another, and he blew a bigger cloud than any of them;
and at the last, he introduced his bottle of _Jimakey_, in the hope that
some of the jontlemen would _dale_ with him--but they wouldn't. They only
bother'd him--bad luck to 'em, and wouldn't dale with him at all; so he
put out his pipe, and departed. Then, as he was walking away from
fore-anent the door of the place, the buckish young bricklayer comes out
after him, and says he, 'Hallo! Tom Nagle,' says he, 'what shall I give
you for the rum?'--that's the _Jimakey_ he was axing about. 'Four and
sixpence,' says Tom Nagle, says he, 'and ye shall have the corck and the
bottle into it,' says he.--'No,' says the bricklayer 'I sha'n't give thee
four and sixpence, but I'll give ye just a shilling for a small _taaste_
of it.'--'No,' says Tom Nagle, 'get along wid ye,' says he--'fait ye
sha'n't have any _taaste_ of it at all,' says he. Then the buckish young
bricklayer, bad luck to him! took the bottle from Tom Nagle by force, and
took a taste of it, just in no time to spake of, and slithered his fist
into Tom Nagle's breeches pocket, and pulled out ten shillings from the
bottom of it; and split back again along the road--with the shillings in
one hand, and the bottle of _Jimakey_ in the other, and Tom Nagle went to
look for a constable.
In reply to all this it was stated, by the buckish young bricklayer, and
the parish clerk, and two other witnesses, that Tom Nagle was neither more
nor less than a bit of a smuggler, and a great pest to all the country
round about Cranford for many miles; that on the night in question he was
very much the worse for the beer, and that the company at the Queen's Head
did certainly joke him about his spirituous calling; that he was very
angry in consequence; that he went out of the house in a passion; that the
bricklayer followed him, and having given him a shilling for a taste of
his rum, he took the bottle from him--telling him, "in a lark," that he
would inform against him, for selling spirits without a license. It was
further stated, that the bottle was carried back to the Queen's Head, and
safely deposited with the landlord, to be re-delivered to Tom Nagle, when
he should call for it; and as to the ten-shilling story, it was declared
by everybody to be a great fib--a pure invention of Tom Nagle's, and
intended by the said Tom as a set-off against the threat of information
for selling contraband spirits.
The magistrate asked Tom Nagle--"Is it true that you were drunk at the
time?"
"Yer honour," replied Tom Nagle, "I was _hearty_--but not _drunk_ by no
manes--bekase I'd only _three pots_ of the beer, and a small drop of the
gin."
"Could you walk steadily?" asked his worship.
"Is it _that time_, your honour?" said Tom Nagle: "Fait, then, I could
walk as well as I can now--and _better_."
His worship observed that, however disreputable and illegal Tom Nagle's
occupation might be, the bricklayer had done wrong in taking his property
from him, and he should therefore take care that he was forthcoming at the
Sessions, where Tom Nagle might indict him if he thought proper.
Tom Nagle thanked his worship, and the buckish young bricklayer was held
to bail.
A WHITE SERGEANT, OR PETTICOAT GOVERNMENT.
Among the "_disorderlies_" brought before the magistrate from St.
Clement's watch-house, was a Mr. H., a very respectable law-stationer.
Robert Hunt, a watchman, deposed, that between twelve and one o'clock in
the middle of the night, he heard a lady's voice crying "Watch!
Watch!--Stop him, Watch!" whereupon he turned himself round about, and
seeing the prisoner, Mr. H., running with all his might, he as in duty
bound, stopped him full butt, and "civilly seizing him by the collar,"
told him he must wait a-bit, till "the lady what _skreeked_ should come
up." But Mr. H., instead of waiting quietly, as a gentleman ought to do,
slipped himself out of his coat, "_momently_ as it were," showed fight,
and gave him two or three desperate "punches on the belly" before he knew
where he was. This being the case, he "twirled his _rackler_," and other
watchmen coming up, Mr. H. was conveyed to the watch-house.
[Illustration: PETTICOAT GOVERNMENT.]
Mr. H., in his defence, gave rather a different account of the matter. It
appeared by his statement that, having occasion to call upon a friend late
on Saturday night, he found that friend was gone to a neighbouring tavern,
and, without thinking any harm, he followed him thither, and having found
him, they sat down to take a friendly glass together; but they had
scarcely got through the first glass of cold brandy-and-water,
with-a-little-sugar-in-it, when, who should come in but his wife, Mrs.
H----y! Now, such a visit, at such an hour, and in such a place, he humbly
submitted to the magistrate, was confoundedly annoying. He told Mrs. H.
that it was extremely indelicate, and desired that she would return home
forthwith, and he would follow her in a few minutes. But no--before all
the company she peremptorily refused to stir an inch without him! What was
to be done? If he departed with her, every body would laugh at him; and
if he remained, she would remain also; thereby making the thing still more
ridiculous. In this dilemma he consulted with his friend; his friend
advised him to go, his own feelings prompted him to stay; but, as matters
were getting worse and worse every minute, he resolved to go--and go he
did. In order, however, to show Mrs. H. that he would not quietly succumb
to petticoat government, exercised in this vexatious manner, he no sooner
got into the street, than he took to his heels and ran away--determined in
his own mind not to go home for an hour or two. But here again Mrs. H. got
the better of him; for he no sooner began to run, than she began to bawl
"Stop him, watch! stop him!" and the watch did stop him--not as the said
watch had deposed, by "_civilly_ collaring him," but by grasping him by
the cravat, and _sticking_ his knuckles against his throat till he was
nearly strangled; and he was verily of opinion that he should literally
have died of the said strangulation if some persons had not providentially
come to his assistance, and forced the watchman to take his hand from his
throat. With respect to the "dreadful _punches_" complained of, he
positively denied having inflicted them.
Mrs. H., and another lady or two, who, it seems, accompanied her in her
tavern expedition, fully substantiated this statement in all its
interesting particulars.
On the other hand, the watchman called four of his brethren, who all
offered to swear that Mr. H. struck him repeatedly.
The magistrate was of opinion that the watchman had done his duty well,
and called upon Mr. H. to find bail to answer for the assault at the
Sessions, unless he could satisfy the watchman for his trouble.
Mr. H. said he had no money to bestow on any such purpose; and, feeling
himself the aggrieved party, he had rather go before a jury; so he retired
in the custody of the turnkey.
THE COOK AND THE TAILOR.
This was a matter of assault and battery, originating in roast lamb and
cauliflower, carried on by means of a misfitting toilinet waistcoat, and
ending in battle and bloodshed.
[Illustration: PETTICOAT GOVERNMENT.]
Mr. Ellerbach, the defendant, a tailor (by _trade_), small in person and
fashionably attired, with his dexter arm gracefully suspended in a
black silk sling, was brought up by the nocturnals of St. Martin's
watch-house, and placed before the bench. Whereupon Mr. Arundel, the
complainant, "a good portly man, and corpulent; of a cheerful look, a
pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage," being first duly sworn, deposed,
that he was the proprietor of an eating house (commonly called a
_slap-bang_ shop); and that the defendant, Mr. Ellerbach, being indebted
to him for sundry plates of roast lamb and cauliflower, he, the
complainant, expressed a strong desire to have the said plates of roast
lamb and cauliflower paid for without delay; inasmuch as he was fully
aware that when a good dinner had answered the purpose for which it was
taken, it was speedily forgotten, especially when taken on _tick_. He,
therefore, as aforesaid, expressed a strong desire to be paid; which so
incensed Mr. Ellerbach, that he came into his shop, as he, the
complainant, was standing in the midst of his men, and, after having
kicked up a great dust, threatened to beat the whole lot. Complainant
having no inclination to be beaten, ordered him to depart in peace, and
pay for the lamb and cauliflower when convenient. But the defendant's
voice was still for war; he d----d the lamb and cauliflower,
"vain-gloriously;" and when one of complainant's cooks went towards him,
with the kind intention of pursuading him to be quiet, he took up his fist
and struck the unoffending cook right on the mouth. The blood gushed forth
in a torrent; and, whilst poor _cookey_ was looking for his teeth,
complainant called in the watch, and defendant was conveyed to durance.
Mr. Ellerbach entered upon his reply in a mild tone of impassioned
eloquence; he admitted having eaten the lamb and cauliflower, and also
that he took it on _tick_--not because he lacked the means of paying for
it, even to the uttermost farthing;--but because he had a counter-claim
upon the complainant for making him a toilinet waistcoat, which he, the
complainant, alleged was a _misfit_, and therefore disputed the payment.
Things were in this state, when he, the defendant, sent to complainant's
shop for some cold roast beef and pickled cabbage, intending to eat it for
his supper, and, to his immense amazement, the messenger returned, stating
that complainant not only refused to send it, but had actually threatened
to make pickled _cabbage_ of him (the defendant), unless he immediately
paid for the lamb and cauliflower. This allusion to _cabbage_ he very
naturally took as a reflection--a vulgar reflection upon his profession as
a _tailor_, and he, therefore, went to his shop in person, to know what
he meant by _pickling_ him. But he had scarcely entered the doors, when
he found complainant and his surbordinate cooks all up in arms against
him. Complainant called him a scoundrel, and ordered him to depart,
without giving him time to demand the explanation he came for; and whilst
he was endeavouring to obtain a hearing, one of the cooks made "a
contemptuous and rather indecent sort of noise with his mouth;" which so
exasperated him, that he certainly did strike the offending cook upon the
offending organ; and in so doing he thought himself fully justified. In
conclusion, he said, though the cook might have lost a little blood by the
blow, and even, perhaps, an odd tooth or so, yet he, himself, at the same
time knocked the skin off his own knuckles against cookey's teeth, and
strained his thumb so, that he was obliged to carry it in a sling; and
therefore he submitted that the assault account ought to be considered as
balanced.
The magistrate, however, was of a different opinion, and ordered him to
find bail for his appearance to answer it at the sessions.
Thus, though the cook failed to _pickle_ the tailor, the tailor contrived
to place himself in pickle--and in such a pickle as probably _cured_ him
of his pugnacious propensities.
THE TWO AUTHORS.
A man of six feet in height, of seedy exterior, and most melancholious
physiognomy--principal contributor of bawdry and balderdash to the
"Rambler's Magazine;" sixpence-a-sheet translator of the "Adventures of
Chevalier Faublas," _et cetera, et cetera, et cetera_--was brought up in
custody, to show cause why he should not be prosecuted for obtaining money
under false pretences from one Mr. Robert Wedderburn--tailor and
breeches-maker, field-preacher, radical reformer, romance-writer,
circulatory-librarian, and ambulatory dealer in drugs, deism, and
demoralisation in general.
Mr. Robert Wedderburn--or Robertus Wedderburn, as he delighteth to
designate himself, is a man of colour--something of the colour of a toad's
back, plump and puffy as a porpoise, and the magnitude of his caput makes
it manifest that nature cut him out for a counsellor, had not the
destinies decreed that he should cut out cloth. He therefore became a
tailor and flourished (his shears), but age and fatty infirmity at length
unfitted him for the operative department of his profession; his back
would no longer bend to the board; his legs refused to let him cross them
as he was wont to do; his eyes declined seeing a needle unless it was
close to his nose; and though he got spectacles of all sorts, and let go
his braces to their utmost limits, he could not manage it any how; and so,
since he could no longer sew, he joined the _radicals_ of the day, and,
from mending breeches, took to mending the state. His doings in this way
made some noise in the world. He it was who had the honour of first
inoculating the invincible Carlile with pure Deism; he it was who suffered
pains, penalties, prosecutions, and imprisonments for his too liberal
promulgation of too liberal politico-theological preachings; and he it
will be that will have a place in the list of patriot martyrs of the
nineteenth century--if a list of them should ever be published. _Shelved_,
with the rest of the radicals, he turned his thoughts to literature;
literature brought him acquainted with the prisoner; his acquaintance with
the prisoner brought the prisoner to the bar of this office; and that
brings us to the immediate matter at issue.
It appeared by the evidence, that Mr. Robertus Wedderburn--being a man, as
he himself said, "fruitful in imagination, but no great scholar," was in
the habit of cutting out pretty little sixpenny romances, and employing
the prisoner to touch them up grammatically. This caused a kind of
literary intercourse between them; and at one of their interviews
lately--on the subject of a new romance, to be called "Beatrice, or the
Bleeding Beauty," the prisoner tendered a pawnbroker's ticket to Mr.
Robertus Wedderburn, requesting him to buy it. This ticket purported to be
a pledging of thirteen volumes of new novels for the trifling sum of ten
shillings, and Mr. Robertus Wedderburn willingly undertook to purchase it
for three shillings--wisely considering that these thirteen volumes would
be a handsome addition to his little circulating library, and that at a
shilling a-piece they were certainly "dog cheap." He therefore paid the
prisoner the three shillings; and as soon as he could raise the money, he
went to the pawnbroker's to redeem the books; when, to his utter
astonishment, he found instead of _thirteen_ there were only
_three_!--that the prisoner had taken the liberty of placing a 1 before
the 3 on the ticket, thereby converting 3 into 13; that the three books
were thus pledged for their full value; and that Mr. Robertus Wedderburn
was of course bamboozled of his blunt--in the vulgar, "cheated of his
money."
The magistrate, having listened with great patience to the premises, asked
the prisoner what he had to say for himself; and, as he only played with
his hat-band in reply, he was remanded until the evening, in order that
the pawnbroker might attend.
In the evening he was again placed at the bar; but there was no pawnbroker
in attendance; and Mr. Wedderburn begged leave to withdraw the
prosecution--he having been satisfied by the bounty of the prisoner's
patron.
The magistrate then commented severely on the conduct of all the parties,
and reluctantly consented to the prisoner's discharge.
A BOLD STROKE FOR A SUPPER.
A pair of showy young men, _exquisitely_ attired, with their exquisite
attire cased in street mud, and their crops _a-la-Titus_ filled with bits
of straw, were brought up from one of the lower apartments (commonly
called the _Black "hole"_) in Covent-garden watch-house; where they had
passed the night in doleful durance, merely because their appetites were
in better order than their finances--or, in plain terms, because they had
eaten more supper than they could pay for. They gave their names _John
Bright_ and _Henry Walsh_, gents.--the former of Queen's-square, and the
latter of----"nowhere in particular." The following is the story of the
little adventure which brought them under the _surveillance_ of the
police.
On Sunday night these gallants went into the Imperial Hotel, Piazza,
Covent-garden, and asked if "Mr. Kecksy" was there. They were told that he
was not; at which they expressed much surprise. They then ordered a "rite
jollie supper;" and when it was ready they ate it up, washing it down with
three bottles of prime old port. Nevertheless, they frequently cast an
anxious eye towards the door, and talked from time to time of the
unaccountable absence of "Mr. Kecksy." At length they became what is
classically called "_Bacchi plenus_," and the landlord thought it was then
time to send up the bill. He sent it up accordingly; but they tossed it in
the waiter's face, and ordered him to send up the landlord, Mr. Joy. Mr.
Joy obeyed their summons, and demanded to know their pleasure. "Joy, my
hearty! you must put up _this_ to Kecksy.--He invited us, and by G--d he
shall pay," was the jovial reply. "Upon my word, gentlemen, this is too
bad--Mr. Kecksy has not been here these many weeks; you are utter
strangers to me, and I cannot think of letting you go without paying,"
replied Mr. Joy. "You can't!--then I'll tell you what, my old boy, we
shall _tip you the double_ and _bolt_, by all that's comical!" retorted
one of the bucks. This kind of phraseology put their gentility quite out
of the question with Mr. Joy, and without further ceremony he ordered one
of his waiters to call in a watchman. This was a measure the supper-eaters
had not calculated upon, and they became indignantly anxious to put their
threat of "tipping him the double" into immediate practice; but Mr. Joy
and his waiters opposed their retreat; upon which they threatened to kick
Mr. Joy downstairs, and throw his waiters out of the window; and they had
actually commenced proceedings in this way when the watchman made his
appearance and took them in charge. They now moderated their choler a
little, and proposed that somebody should accompany them home, where they
would pay the bill. This was acceded to on the part of Mr. Joy, and an
extra watchman agreed to accompany them, with one of the waiters, for that
purpose. But they had scarcely left the hotel before they suddenly
_bolted_ in different directions, and would inevitably have _tipped_ their
pursuers _the double_ at last, had it not been for the rattles of the
watchmen. As it was, one of them was caught as he was scampering up
Bow-street, and the other was found ingloriously concealed among the sheds
in the market. Farther parley was not attempted on either side. They were
forthwith conveyed to the watch-house, and there they conducted themselves
so "_obstropolously_," that the constable of the night found it necessary
to have them put down below, "instead of letting them sit by the fire like
_gentlemen_."
This was the substance of the evidence for the prosecution, and the muddy
_watch_-worn defendants were asked by the magistrates what they had to say
to it.
They replied that they were actually invited to supper at that hotel, by
their friend Mr. Kecksy, who was very well known to the landlord, and they
fully expected he would have come in during the supper, or otherwise they
would not have ordered the supper. They had, however, offered the landlord
their address, and had assured him he should be paid in the morning.
"Then pay it now"--said the magistrate--"the morning is arrived!"
The defendants looked blank--and did not offer to pay.
Mr. Joy observed, that their story about Mr. Kecksy was a mere absurdity,
as that gentleman was _out of town_.
"He is not out of town," said one of the supper-eaters, "for I saw him
yesterday afternoon."
"The fact is, your worship, he is in the King's Bench prison," said Mr.
Joy.
"That is false, Sir!--He is not," exclaimed the supper-eater.
"Where is he, then?" said his worship.
"Why, Sir, he is--in the _Rules_!" replied the supper eater.
Every soul in the office laughed at this nice distinction; and the
magistrate cut the matter short by telling Mr. Joy he could not detain the
gentlemen for the amount of their _supper_, as it was a simple contract
debt; but he could hold them to bail for the _assault_.
They were accordingly ordered to find bail, and not being prepared with
any, they were consigned to the attentions of the turnkey, without any
order for their breakfast.
CUPBOARD LOVE.
Mr. George Pendergast, the principal of a _flue-feaking_
establishment--or, in ordinary phrase, a master chimney-sweeper appeared
upon a peace warrant issued at the instance of Mr. Christopher Williamson,
a painter--not of pictures, but posts and penthouses.
Mr. Christopher Williamson deposed, that on a certain day named, Mr.
Pendergast came into his apartments while he and Mrs. Williamson were
quietly taking their tea and crumpets, and without any notice whatever,
knocked him off of his chair what he was sitting on; and upon his telling
Mr. Pendergast he thought such conduct very _ungenteel_, Mr. Pendergast
told him to make himself easy, for he would "come it again" as often as he
thought proper; from all which, he verily believed that Mr. Pendergast
intended to do him some grievous bodily harm, and therefore he prayed the
interposition of the law.
Mr. Pendergast, who stood before the bench all soot without, and all gin
and jollity within, very readily admitted the assault--adding, "I think,
your worship, it was time to give him a bit of a floorer when I found my
own wife in his _cupboard_!"
His worship said if that was the facts it certainly had a rather awkward
appearance; but Mr. Williamson assured him Mrs. Pendergast only ran into
the cupboard to avoid her husband's violence--"And upon my honour, your
worship," said he, "there wasn't a morsel of _Crim. Con._, or anything of
that 'ere sort, in the business at all."
Mr. Pendergast admitted that he was not much afraid of Mr. Williamson "in
the _Crim. Con._ line;" and then went on to detail some other provocations
he had received from him: particularly upon one occasion, when Mr.
Williamson persuaded him to take a ride on the Thames with him, and
because he refused to lend him 10_l._, chucked him overboard right into
the river!
Mr. Williamson denied this, and said Mr. Pendergast went overboard by
accident, being rather top-heavy-ish. Mr. Pendergast was bound, in his own
recognizance of 20_l._, to keep the peace towards all the King's subjects
generally, and particularly so towards Mr. Christopher Williamson.
LOVE IN CHANCERY.