THE PRIZE-FIGHT ON FRIMLEY COMMON.
I must now describe a remarkable event that occurred a great many
years ago, and which caused no little amusement at the time; indeed,
for years after Baron Parke used to tell the story with the greatest
pleasure.
In those old days there was a prize-fight on Frimley Common, and it
was known long after as the "Frimley Common Prize-Fight," although
many a battle had taken place on Frimley Ridges before that time,
and many a one since. This particular fight was the more celebrated
because one of the combatants was killed, and I remember the events
connected with it as clearly as if they had taken place only
yesterday. At the following Kingston Assizes the victorious pugilist
was indicted for manslaughter. It was an awful charge, especially
before the Judge who was then presiding. The man, however, escaped for
the moment, and a warrant was issued for his apprehension.
At a later period I was at Guildford, where the Assizes were being
held. Even at that time the man "wanted" for the manslaughter could be
easily identified, for he still bore visible signs of the punishment
he had undergone in the encounter.
I was sitting in court one afternoon when a country sporting attorney
of the name of Morris quietly sidled up to me. I ought to mention that
at these Assizes Lord Chief Justice Erie was sitting, and it was well
known that he also detested the Prize Ring, and had therefore, no
sympathy with any of its members. He was consequently a dangerous
Judge to have anything to do with in a case of this kind. His
punishment would be sure to be one of severity, and a conviction a
dead certainty. There was a sparkle in the sporting solicitor's eye,
as he glanced at me over his shoulder, which plainly intimated that he
had something good to communicate.
As he came in front of the seat where I was, he said, in a subdued
whisper, that he had been instructed by Lord ---- to defend the
accused prize-fighter; that the man was at that moment in the town,
and would like to have my opinion as to whether it would be prudent
to surrender at these Assizes--surrender, that is to say, to the
constables who were on the lookout for him; or whether it would be
better, as they were ignorant of his whereabouts, to delay his trial
until the next Assizes, when he would be better prepared to face the
tribunal, as by that time he would have recovered from the punishment
he had received.
It is certain the jury would have taken his battered appearance as
evidence of the damage he had inflicted on his adversary, whom he
had unfortunately killed; and even more likely that Erle should
have regarded his injuries in the same light, and punished him more
severely for having received them. I had a perfect right to answer the
question put to me, and felt that it was my duty to the accused to
answer frankly. So I said there was little doubt, as the man was dead,
and the accused still bore unmistakable signs of the contest, there
would be pretty clear evidence of identity; that as Erle was not a
fool, he would most certainly convict him; while, being opposed to
everything connected with the "noble art of self-defence," he might
send him to penal servitude for a number of years.
I had no need to say more. The solicitor, who was a ready-witted and
voluble man, was anxious to amalgamate his opinion with mine. He
was shrewd, and caught an idea before you could be sure you had one
yourself.
"The most prudent thing, sir," he said, "would be to surrender at the
next Assizes, and not at these. That is just what I thought, sir, and
so I told him, advising in the meantime that he should carefully avoid
putting himself in the way of the police."
I have no doubt he acted on this opinion, for I heard that he left the
town immediately, and was neither seen nor heard of again till the eve
of the Spring Assizes, which were to be held at Kingston, and at which
Baron Parke was to preside. The Baron was one of the shrewdest of men,
as any one would discover who attempted to deceive him.
On the Commission day the attorney for the accused presented himself
to me again, and once more sought my opinion with regard to the trial
and the surrender of the accused.
"Would it be proper," he asked, "for my client to show his respect for
the court and dress in a becoming manner; or should he appear in his
everyday clothes as a working bricklayer, dirty and unwashed?"
Again I advised, as was my duty, that he should scrupulously regard
the dignity of the Bench, and show the greatest respect to the learned
Judge who presided; that he ought not to come in a disgraceful costume
if he could help it, but appear as becomingly attired as possible.
That was all I said. Let me also observe, what perhaps there is no
occasion to say, that I impressed upon the attorney that his client
should abstain from any appearance of attempting to deceive the Judge,
and informed him, as the fact was, that his lordship was scrupulously
particular in all points of etiquette and decorum. Moreover, I added
as a last word, "The Judge is too shrewd to be taken in."
After thus duly impressing upon him the importance of a quiet
behaviour, I suggested that any costume other than that of the man
when actually engaged in the fight _might_ throw some difficulty in
the way of a young and inexperienced country constable identifying
him. It was never too late for even a bricklayer to mend his garments
or his manners and adjust them to the occasion. The policeman who
alone could identify the Frimley champion had not seen him for many
months--not since the fight, in fact; and the prisoner ought not to
appear in the dock in fighting costume, as the young Surrey constable
saw him on that one occasion. Moreover, Baron Parke would not like him
to appear in that dress.
This was, as nearly as I can remember, all that took place between us.
Judge, now, of my surprise, if you can, when the case was called
on, to see the prisoner appear in the dock looking like a _young
clergyman_, dressed in a complete suit of black, a long frock coat,
fitting him up to the neck and very nearly down to the heels. He had
the appearance of a very tame curate. His hair, instead of being short
and stumpy, as when the young policeman saw him, was now long, shiny,
and carefully brushed over both sides of his forehead, which gave him
the appearance so fashionable amongst the saints of the Old Masters.
I was utterly astounded at the change from the rude, rough bricklayer,
scarred all over the face, to the clergyman-like appearance of this
gentlemanly prisoner. I dared not laugh, but it was difficult to
maintain my countenance. Deceive Baron Parke! I thought; he would
deceive the devil himself, who knew a great deal more about parsons
than Parke did.
The learned Judge looked at him for a considerable time, as though he
had never seen a prize-fighter before, and was determined to make the
most of him. If the ghost of Hamlet had stood in the dock instead of
the prisoner, he would not have surprised dear old Parke more than the
prisoner did.
It was a masterpiece of deception, notwithstanding my serious warning.
On the jury, it so happened, was an elderly Quaker, in his full array
of drab coat, vest, and breeches, with the regulation blue stockings.
He had long whitish hair, and a Quaker hat in front of him on the
ledge of the jury-box. He was what might be called a "factor" in the
situation, which it was no easy matter to know in a moment how to deal
with. He would be against prize-fighting to a certainty, but how far
he might be inclined to convict a prize-fighter was another matter.
At last I made up my mind in what way to deal with him, and it was
this--not on the merits of the noble art itself, but on those of the
case. If I could convince this conscientious juror that there _might
be_ (that would be good enough) a doubt as to identity, it would be
sufficient for my purpose; so I mainly addressed myself to _him_,
after disposing of the young policeman pretty satisfactorily,
leaving only his bare belief to be dealt with in argument. The young
policeman's belief that _that there_ was the man showed what a strong
young policeman he was.
I asked the Quaker to allow me to suggest, for the sake of argument
only, that _he_, the Quaker, should imagine himself putting off his
Quaker dress, and assuming the costume of a prize-fighter, his hair
cut so short that it would present the appearance of an aged rat;
"then," said I, "divest yourself of your shirt and flannel--strip
yourself, in fact, quite to the skin above your belt--and with only a
pair of cotton drawers of a sky blue, or any other colour you might
prefer, and, say, a bird's-eye _fogle_ round your waist, your lower
limbs terminating in cotton socks and high-lows--with the additional
ornamentation to all this elegant drapery of a couple of your front
teeth knocked out--and I will venture to ask you, sir, and any one of
the gentlemen whom I am addressing, whether you think your own good
and respectable wife herself would recognize the partner of her joys?"
The burst of laughter which this little transformation of the
respectable, stout old Quaker occasioned I was in no way responsible
for; but even Old Parke fell back in his seat, and said,--
"Mr. Hawkins! Mr. Hawkins!"
I knew what that meant, and when the usher, by dint of much clamour,
secured me another hearing, I continued,--
"Nay, sir, and if you looked at yourself in a looking-glass you would
not be able to recognize a single feature you possessed, had you been
battered about the face as the unfortunate man was. Why, the young
policeman says in his evidence his nose was flattened, his, eyes were
swollen black, blue, and red, his cheeks gashed and bloody! But it is
enough: if that is a correct description, although a mild one, of the
man as he appeared after the scene of the conflict, how can you expect
the young constable to recognize such an individual months afterwards,
or any of the witnesses, although to their dying day they would not
forget the terrible disfigurement of the poor fellow whom you are
supposed to be trying?"
All this time there was everywhere painfully suppressed laughter, and
even the jury, all of them Epsom men, and many of whom I knew well
enough, were hardly able to contain themselves.
His lordship, after summing up the case to the jury, looked down
quietly to me, as I was sitting below him, and murmured,--
"Hawkins, you've got all Epsom with you!"
"Yes," I answered, "but you have got the Quaker; he was the only one I
was afraid of."
"You have transformed him," said the Judge.
In a few minutes the verdict showed the accuracy of his lordship's
observation, for the jury returned a verdict of "Not guilty."
I must say, however, that Parke did his utmost to obtain a conviction,
but reason and good sense were too much for him.