THE BRIGHTON CARD-SHARPING CASE.
From the courts of justice to the prize-ring is an easy and sometimes
pleasant transition, especially in books. I visited from time to time
such well-known persons as "Deaf Burke," Nat Langham, "Dutch Sam," and
Owen Swift, all remarkable men, with constitutions of iron, and made
like perfect models of humanity. Their names are unknown in these
days, although in those of the long past gentlemen of the first
position were proud of their acquaintance; and these men, although
their profession was battering one another, were as little inclined
to brutality as any. And when it is remembered that they played their
game in accordance with strict rules and on the most scientific
principles, it will be seen that cruelty formed no part of their
character.
The true sportsmen of the period, amongst whom were the highest in the
social and political world, took the same interest in contests in the
ring as they did on the turf or in the cricket-field, and for the same
reason. Whether Jem Mace would beat Tom Sayers had as much interest
at fashionable dinner-tables as whether Lord Derby would dispose
of Aberdeen or Palmerston. Lords and dukes backed their opinion
in thousands, and the bargee and the ostler gave or took the odds
according to the tips, in shillings. The gentleman of the long robe,
therefore, was not to be supposed as altogether out of his element
in sporting circles any more than the gentleman who had not a rag to
cover him.
Nor was it uncommon to meet what was called the cream of society
at the celebrated rendezvous of Ben Caunt, which was the Coach and
Horses, St. Martin's Lane, or at the less pretentious resort of the
Tipton Slasher; and what will our modern ladies think of their fair
predecessors, who in those days witnessed the drawing of a badger or a
dog-fight on a Sunday afternoon?
All mankind will attend exhibitions of skill and prowess, and although
prize-fights are illegal, you never can suppress the spirit which
engendered that form of competition.
I spent sometimes, with many eminent spectators, a quiet hour or two
at Tom Spring's in Holborn, and met many of the best men there in all
ranks and professions, always excepting the Church. After one of these
entertainments I was travelling with John Gully, once a formidable
champion of the ring, and at that time a great bookmaker, as well
as owner of racehorses--afterwards presented at Court to her most
gracious Majesty the late Queen--and Member of Parliament. We were
travelling on our way to Bath, and as we approached a tunnel not far
from our destination, Gully pointed out a particular spot "where,"
said he, "I won my first fight;" and so proud was he of the
recollection that he might have been in a picture like that of
Wellington pointing out the Field of Waterloo to a young lady.
This knowledge of the world, seen as I saw it, was of the greatest use
in my profession. If you would know the world, you must not confine
yourself to its virtues. There _is_ another side, and it is well to
look at it. I thought on one particular occasion how useful a little
of this knowledge would have been during a certain cross-examination
of Arthur Orton in Chancery by a member of the Chancery Bar. He put
this question and many others of a similar kind,--
"Do you swear, sir, that you were on board the _Bella_?" in a very
severe tone.
"Yes, sir," says the Claimant, "I do."
"Stop," says the advocate; "I'll take that down;" and he did, with a
great deal besides, his cross-examination materially assisting the man
in prolonging his fraudulent claim.
I was engaged in the Brighton card-sharping case, upon which so much
stress was laid by the Claimant as proving his identity with Roger
Tichborne, Roger not having been in the matter at all. I was counsel
for one of the persons, the notorious Johnny Broom, who was indicted
for fraud, and whose trial ought to have come on before Lord Chief
Justice Jervis. He was not a good Judge, so far as the _defendant_ was
concerned, to try such a case, and that being Johnny's opinion, he
absconded from his bail. The Lord Chief Justice had a great knowledge
of card-sharping and of all other rogueries, so that he was an apt man
to deal with delinquents who practised them. Conviction before him
would have been certain in this case. He was, in fact, waiting for
Johnny, as it was a case of great roguery, and intended to deal
severely with him.
You may imagine, then, how angry he was when he heard that his man had
flown. But there was one consolation: the Broom gang consisted of a
number of men who acted on all occasions as confederates when the
frauds were practised. Two of these rogues were also indicted, and
placed on their trial at this assize.
A Mr. Johnson appeared for the prosecution, and in opening the
case for the Crown, in order to show his uncommon fairness, was so
impartial as to state that he could find no ground of complaint in
respect of the _cards_, which, he said, had been most carefully
examined by the Brighton magistrates.
Who these Brighton magistrates were I never heard, but probably they
were gentlemen who knew nothing of sharpers and their ways, and whose
only experience of cards was a quiet rubber with the ladies of their
household. However, such was their unanimous opinion, and upon it the
counsel for the Crown informed the Lord Chief Justice that he had no
case so far as the fairness of the cards was concerned.
The Lord Chief Justice saw in a moment the importance of that
admission on the part of the prosecution. If that were accepted the
case was gone, since the fraud for which these men were indicted could
not have been perpetrated by honest cards.
"The Brighton magistrates!" said the Chief Justice, with becoming
emphasis. "Give me the cards; I should like to have a look at them."
They were handed up, and then a little scene took place which was
picturesque and instructive. The Judge took up the cards one by one
after carefully wiping and adjusting his glasses to his nose, while
his confidential clerk leant over his shoulder with clerk-like
familiarity. Having scrutinized them with the minutest observation,
Jervis packed them up, and, turning to Mr. Johnson, said,--
"Mr. Johnson, I will show you how the trick was done. If you will take
that card"--handing him one from the pack "--you will see that to
the ordinary eye there is nothing to attract your attention. That is
precisely as it should be in all games of cheating, for if every
fool could see the private marks the rogues could not carry on their
calling."
Johnson took the card, and, instructed by the Lord Chief Justice,
carefully looked it over, but saw nothing. His face was a perfect
blank, and his mind could not have been much more picturesque.
"Turn it over," said his lordship. Johnson obeyed. Still the cryptic
hierograph did not appear. The Judge stared at his pupil. "Do you
see," asked his lordship, "a tiny mark on the corner of the card at
the back?"
"Oh, I see it!" says Johnson, with a face beaming with delight and
simplicity.
"That means _the ace of diamonds_" said the Chief--"ace of diamonds,
Mr. Johnson!" And thus, after a while, the cards and their secret
signs were explained to the counsel for the Crown, who, on the
intelligence of the Brighton magistrates, declared that, so far as the
_cards_ were concerned, he must acquit these card-sharping rogues of
all intention to deceive.
In all cases the back of the card showed what was on the face; that
was the simple secret of the whole contrivance, although the Brighton
magistrates could not discover it, as the whole of them combined had
not a hundredth part of the intelligent cuteness of Lord Chief Justice
Jervis.
Two of this gang were standing near me, and I heard one of them say to
the other,--
"Joey, how would you like to play blind hookey with that ---- old
devil?"
"O my G----!" exclaimed Joey.
The prisoners were convicted principally upon the evidence of the Lord
Chief Justice, and sentenced to long terms of imprisonment. My client
Johnny got away. He read about Jervis and this trial in the papers,
and declared he would sooner abandon his profession than be tried by
such an old thief. "Why," said he, "that old bloke knows every trick
on the board."
His escape was rather interesting. He came into Lewes fully intending
to take his trial, and went out of Lewes with the determination not
to be tried at those assizes, for the simple reason, as he said, that
Jervis was too heavy weight for his counsel.
He took a room and showed himself publicly; but at night the
police--those stalwart county men--paid a tiptoe visit to his bedroom.
They had no right to this privilege, but perhaps Harry thought it
would be better for his brother if they did so. Why they went on
tiptoe was that Harry told them his brother was in so weak a state
that he woke up with the least noise. The police very kindly believed
him, and paid their first and second visit on tiptoe.
When they went the third time, however, their bird had flown. Johnny
had let himself down by the window, and, evading the vigilance of
those who may have been on the lookout, escaped.
But he did not go without providing a substitute. Harry was to answer
all inquiries, and waited the arrival of his watchers, lying in
Johnny's bedroom. When the officers came he opened the door in his
night apparel, and said, "Hush! don't disturb him; poor Johnny ain't
slept hardly for a week over this 'ere job. But you can have a peep at
him, only don't make a noise. There he is!" and he pointed to a fancy
nightcap of his brother's, which only wanted Johnny's head to make the
story true.
The good constables, having seen it as they saw it the night before,
left the house as quietly as mice, still on tiptoe.
Harry described this performance to me himself.
Jervis had the whole country scoured for him, but unless he had
scoured it himself, there was little chance of any one else finding
the culprit.