Mornings at Bow Street — Page 134-146

FLAGELLATION _versus_ PHYSIC.

W.

C.

, Esq.

, a gentleman of family and fortune, was brought up in custody of an officer, charged with assaulting Mr. H.

, a highly respectable surgeon and apothecary, residing in the Strand.

Either party was attended by a solicitor, and the following is a "succinct synopsis" of the affair.

Mr. H.

is an elderly personage, of very gentlemanly deportment, and Mr. C.

is a tall, athletic gentleman, in the full bloom of five-and-twenty, or thereabout.

Some three or four yeas ago, Mr. H.

had the honour of curing Mr. C.

of some indisposition--no matter what; but the _honour_ was all he had for his services; for though he sent in his bill, amounting only to 7_l.

_ 3_s.

_, Mr. C.

neglected to discharge it.

He, however, made _promises_ in plenty, time after time; and if Mr. H.

could have fed upon this "_cameleon's_ dish," it would have been all very well, and this assault would never have happened.

But he could not--he had no relish for it--he knew that nobody could "fatten capons so;" and therefore he determined to have something more substantial.

In consequence of this determination, he lost no opportunity of dunning Mr. C.

for the money; but unfortunately the opportunities were very rare, as Mr. C.

was fond of variety, and had a knack of frequently, very frequently, changing his residence; so that Mr. H.

never knew "where to have him."

At length, on Wednesday morning last, he heard he was in town, and he instantly sent one of his young men to his lodgings, with an earnest demand of payment.

The young man returned, saying Mr. C.

was not risen, nor would he be up till after eleven o'clock.

At eleven o'clock Mr. H.

himself went out, with the intention of repeating the demand in person; and, on his way, he met Mr. C.

in the Strand, who, on perceiving Mr. H.

, immediately crossed over to the opposite side of the street.

Mr. H.

crossed also, or, rather, like-wise--and so they met full butt, as it were; whereupon Mr. H.

, after the usual salutation of well-bred people, requested instant payment of his account.

Mr. C.

said it was not convenient to him to pay it at that moment.

"Will you give me your word of honour that you will pay it in a week?"

demanded Mr. H.

"I tell you, Sir, it shall be paid in a few days," replied Mr. C.

"Well, Sir, I'll tell you what--if it is not paid in the course of a week, I will put it into the hands of my solicitor!"

rejoined Mr. H.

"Sir!"

retorted Mr. C.

, "if you say that again I will flog you round the place--I will flog you every time I meet you; and if it was not for the disagreeableness of raising a crowd around us, I would flog you now, Sir!"

And, so saying, he held his stick over the head of Mr. H.

in token thereof.

This was the whole amount of the assault complained of--for it did not appear that he did flog, neither did it appear how Mr. H.

"backed out of the concern."

Mr. C.

began his defence by observing that the account had not been standing more than _two_ years; whereas Mr. H.

had called it _three_ or _four_ years.

The account itself, he added, was a mere trumpery affair, not of the slightest consequence to him; in proof whereof he was ready to pay it that moment, before the magistrate-- "Oh!

I shall take care to _make_ you pay it!"

exclaimed the agitated Mr. H.

SIR R.

BIRNIE.

--Had you not better receive the money now it is offered to you, Mr. H.?

--You know the old adage says, "If you will not when you may," &c. Mr. H.

thanked his worship for his suggestion, and said--to be sure--that was another affair--and if Mr. C.

were actually to tender him the money--he did not know that he should, altogether, refuse it.

Mr. C.

instantly took out a handful of sovereigns, and tossed the amount of the claim down upon the table; and it as instantly slided into the right-hand breeches pocket of Mr. H.

This interesting ceremony ended, Mr. C.

resumed his defence.

He denied that he had menaced Mr. H.

in the violent manner he had described.

It was true he had raised his stick for a moment, but it was only in consequence of Mr. H.

exclaiming, loud enough to be heard by many people passing, "Oh!

Sir--everybody knows what you are!"

SIR R.

BIRNIE said the affair hardly amounted to a breach of the peace, and unless Mr. H.

could swear that he went in "bodily fear" of Mr. C.

, he certainly should not feel justified in holding the latter gentleman to bail.

"_Bodily fear!

_" cried Mr. H.

--and snatching up his hat he left the office, uttering something which to us sounded very much like "_Fudge!

_" TOM SAYERS.

Tom Sayers, a fellow of lofty dimensions was brought up on an assault warrant, charged with having broken the nose of one Mr. Bybie Garmondsway, against the peace, &c. Tom Sayers is a man who, during the late Peninsular war, "sought the bubble reputation, e'en in the cannon's mouth," as a British grenadier.

Whether he found it or not, we are unable to say; but certain it is that he now enjoys the reputation of being an admirable culinary bricklayer--a dexterous setter of kitchen ranges; and with this reputation he is fully satisfied--handling his trowel, and dandling his little ones, and cherishing his wife, and drinking his beer, in peace and thankfulness.

Mr. Bybie Garmondsway, notwithstanding his uncommon name, is as common a looking concern as possible--a dirty little land-lubber in a seaman's dress, with a queer nose, queerly decorated on this occasion with divers broad straps of sticking-plaister--_a la Baron Munchausen_.

"An please your worship," said Mr. Bybie Garmondsway, with his hat grasped in both hands, and giving the floor a long scrape with his off foot--"an please your worship, last Tuesday night, as ever was, I goz into the Crown, in Seven Diles, thinking of nothin at all."

"Very likely,"--said his worship.

"Thinking of nothin at all," continued Mr. Bybie Garmondsway, "an ax'd for a pint of porter; an there were this here gentleman, Mr. Sayers, singing a song; an, becoz I said the song was all _gammon_, he punch'd my head, as your worship may see by my nose, an the landlord chucked me out before I'd half drink'd my beer!

--an that's the whole truth about it, as Mr. Sayers can't deny if he's a mind to speak."

"I shall speak when his honour gives me orders," said tall Tom Sayers--drawing up himself to his full height, squaring his shoulders, turning out his toes, and placing his thumbs exactly in line with the seams of his dusty trousers--"I shall speak when his honour gives me orders."

His honour told him he was ready to hear anything he might have to say.

"Thank your honour," said honest Tom Sayers--with a hand-over-brow salute, and without losing the twentieth part of an inch in his altitude--"thank your honour!

Your honour sees that I had been setting a stove grate and oven, for the landlord of the Crown here; with which setting he was pleased to say he was very well satisfied: and he asked me to take a pint of beer in token of the same.

Just then, in comes my wife, with my child in her arms, to see whether I had done my job, and to walk home with me.

I

was pleased to see her, your honour--God bless her!

--and I was pleased to see my child, and I was pleased that the landlord was pleased with my work; and so I took the child on my knee, and my wife and I sat down, side by side on the settle, to drink the pint of beer the landlord had given me.

There he is!

If I tell a lie, let him say so."

His worship told him he believed every word he had said.

"Why, thank your honour again, and I'll not disgrace your belief," rejoined the veteran grenadier.

"As I was saying, your honour, I and my wife sat down kindly to drink the pint of beer--the beer the landlord gave me, your honour, because I had done my duty by his oven; and the child sat laughing on my knee, and an old comrade came in, and we drank together in memory of old times abroad, and in the pride of my heart--God forgive me!

--I sung the '_Battle of Barossa Plains_.'

--It was a battle I served in, your honour, to the best of my ability, and my comrade had served by the side of me; and we thought no harm or offence to anybody.

But this _thing_ here--half sailor and half _scamp_ (meaning Mr. Bybie Garmondsway), he must begin _mocking_ me whilst I was singing, and insulting all land battles whatever.

I asked him to be quiet, and he wouldn't; and after a bit the landlord marched him out, and told him to go home to his own quarters.

Three times the landlord turned the envious lubber out, but he was no sooner out than he was in again, challenging me to fight.

At last, your honour, I put down the child, and made a charge upon him, thinking to put him out in the street--for as to _fighting_ with such a thing!

that's neither here nor there; but I no sooner got hold of him, than, like a false lubber as he is, he turned about and tried to--to do me a private injury, your honour!

--and then, sure enough, I did let fly my fist at his face; and, I if have done wrong, I must answer for it."

The landlord substantiated every part of honest Tom's story, and the magistrate instantly dismissed the complaint; at the same time telling Mr. Bybie Garmondsway that a civil tongue was the best preventive of a bruised nose.

THE DUST WHOPPER AND THE WATERMAN.

Mr. Daniel Butcher, "a jolly young waterman," was charged with assaulting Mr. Robert Wingrove, a carpet beater--commonly called "Bob Wingrove, the _dust-whopper_."

Mr. Bob Wingrove deposed thus:--"Your worship, I beats carpets and does portering, by which means I was looking out of my window yesterday afternoon, when I saw a servant _gal_[23] go by, which belongs to a house what I beats for, by which means I runs down stairs to speak to her, and Dan Butcher, this here chap in the scarlet jacket, comes up to me, and without saying '_by_ your leave,' or '_with_ your leave,' he took me two smacks in the head, right and left."

"Why did he strike you?"

asked the magistrate.

"Aye, that's what I wants to know, your worship!"

replied Mr. Bob.

"Then suppose you ask him now," rejoined his worship; "ask him, why he gave you the two smacks, as you call them."

Mr. Bob, turned, and looked Mr. Dan in the face, as though about to put the question to him; but Mr. Dan smiled him out of countenance, and Mr. Bob, turning back to his worship, said--"It's no use axing him anything, your worship, for he's got a spite agen me ever since I was in prison for saying a few words to a servant _gal_ what brought me here on a peace warrant, by which means he never sees me but he peeps through his fingers at me, as much as to say, 'who peep'd through the prison bars?'

--He's a great blackguard, though he's a little chap, your worship; and he never meets my wife, Mrs. Wingrove, but he cries--'Here's a charming young broom!'

when my wife is _not a charming young broom_--as all her neighbours can testify, but as honest a woman as ever broke bread--only that, like all other women, your worship, she likes a drop of something comfortable now and then."

Mr. Bob's landlady corroborated all his evidence general and particular, and her evidence closed the case for the prosecution.

Mr. Dan Butcher, in his defence, admitted that he _took_ Mr. Bob Wingrove _two smacks in the head_, as that gentleman had deposed, but he assured his worship they were in return for a _punch in the stomach_ which Mr. Bob Wingrove had _lent_ him; and he called two witnesses to prove that Mr. Bob was the aggressor.

Both these witnesses declared that Dan Butcher was walking quietly under Mr. Bob's window, singing a song, and "giving no offence to nobody," when Mr. Bob ran down stairs, and struck him in the bowels "without any _privy-cation_ whatsoever."

"And pray what song was he singing?"

asked his worship; "I have no doubt it was a song intended to insult him."

"Your worship, I don't know what song it was," replied the first witness--"it was a funny sort of song enough, and there was a _tithery um_ at the end of it."

The second witness, however, after much pressing, admitted that it was a song called "_Bob's in the watch-house_," and made by one of the Hungerford-stairs poets in commemoration of poor Mr. Bob's imprisonment.

Mr. Dan could not deny that he sung this song vexatiously, and he was ordered to find bail--So, then, it was Mr. _Bob's_ turn to sing "_Dan's_ in the watch-house."

A GROWN GENTLEMAN.

A very precise, well-dressed young man presented himself before the magistrates, saying he had a very great desire to punish a Mr. Bradbury for _extortion_, _abuse_, and _assault_, and he would be particularly obliged to his worship if he would assist him in so doing.

His worship desired him to describe the nature of his complaint more minutely; whereupon the gentleman went into a long and rather melancholy story, from which it appeared-- Firstly, that Mr. Bradbury lives in the Strand, and is famous for teaching _grown_ gentlemen to write a fine free hand in six lessons, for the trifling sum of one guinea, though they might previously be only capable of scrawling "pot-hooks and links."

--Secondly, that the applicant being in this unfortunate predicament, applied to Mr. Bradbury for his assistance.

--Thirdly, that Mr. Bradbury undertook to make him a ready writer for the sum of one guinea; and also to teach him how to make a pen, without any additional charge.

--Fourthly, that he went through his six lessons in writing, when Mr. Bradbury demanded his guinea.

--Fifthly, that he gave Mr. Bradbury a sovereign and a half-crown, desiring him to take his guinea therefrom.

--Sixthly, that Mr. Bradbury, instead of returning him one shilling and sixpence, returned him a sixpence only, stating that he retained the extra shilling for stationery; this was the "_extortion_" he complained of.

--Seventhly, that he remonstrated with Mr. Bradbury on this stationery charge; and moreover complained to him that he had not sufficiently instructed him in the art of making a good pen.

--Eighthly, that Mr. Bradbury replied he should teach him no more, for he had not conducted himself like a _gentleman_.

--Ninthly, that he told Mr. Bradbury he should summon him before the Lord Mayor.

--Tenthly, that Mr. Bradbury replied, that he cared no more for the Lord Mayor or the Lord _Horse_ either, than he did for him.

This was the "_abuse_" he complained of.

--Eleventhly, that, on his attempting to remonstrate farther, Mr. Bradbury got up from his desk, clenched his fist, and told him if he did not walk off quietly, he would "_bundle_ him down stairs."

This was the "_assault_" he complained of; and having stated all this, he respectfully submitted that he had made out his case.

"And pray, Sir," asked the magistrate, "did he, in effect, '_bundle_' you down stairs?"

"No, Sir," replied the gentleman, "but I think he would if I had not walked away very rapidly."

"Then, Sir, I am sorry I cannot accommodate you by interfering," rejoined his worship;--"if you had undergone the _bundling_ operation, something might have been done, perhaps; but as it is, I don't see that you have any redress for your manifold grievances, except you sue him in the Court of Conscience for the recovery of the _shilling's-worth_ of stationery; and the issue of that measure would, in my opinion, be very doubtful."

The gentleman looked at his worship, then at his own hat, then at his worship again, and then he slowly withdrew; seemingly quite at a loss what to make of the matter.