Mornings at Bow Street — Page 195-212

THE CANTAB AND THE TURKS.

A pair of venerably-bearded Turks, in the full costume of the East, appeared before the magistrate, attended by one of the porters belonging to the Home Secretary of State's Office, who informed his worship, that one of the under secretaries had desired they should be conducted before him; they having some complaint to make against a member of the University of Cambridge.

Neither of the Asiatics could speak a syllable of English, but they were accompanied by a man who offered himself as their interpreter, and who also called himself a Turk--though he was an exact personification of an English stage-coachman,--a sturdy, curly-headed, red-faced, knowing-looking fellow, in topp'd boots, bird's-eye _fogle_, and poodle _benjamin_.

To this man one of the strangers talked for nearly a quarter of an hour, with astonishing volubility, and most redundant gesticulation; and, having concluded, the man delivered the following narrative--partly in English, partly in French, partly in Arabic, and partly in a dialect of his own, composed of all the others:-- The Turks, in the course of their travels, had sojourned some days at Cambridge; and whilst there had sold about ten pounds worth of their merchandise to a "_college-man_"--a collegian, whose name and address they produced.

The "college-man" did not pay them for the merchandise; but promised to be ready with the money on a future day.

When the day arrived, however, he was "gone somewhere away," and they could not find him.

Some days more elapsed before he made himself visible; and then another day of payment was appointed; but when that day came, he was gone away again.

In short, as the interpreter said, he was "always far off, round about in the countries--sometimes here, and sometimes there, sometimes everywhere, and sometimes nowhere at all."

In all these eccentricities the poor Turks endeavoured to keep up with him; and urged the chase so warmly, that it would appear he began at length to grow confoundedly tired of it; and, hopeless of exhausting their patience by this kind of wild-goose chase, he hit upon the following queer contrivance to rid himself of their troublesome presence:--Having apologized for the delay that had occurred, he appointed to meet them on the following morning at a certain public-house, about five miles from Cambridge, on the road to London.

The Turks were exact in keeping their appointment, and they had not waited long before "the college-man" made his appearance.

He was accompanied by a young woman; and he proposed to the Turks that they should escort this young woman to London and take great care of her, as she was very _dear_ to him, and wait altogether at the White Horse Cellar, Piccadilly, till he joined them; that he would follow them in a day or two at farthest, and immediately on his arrival in town he would give them a cheque upon his banker for the original debt, and the travelling expenses altogether!

This would have been a comical proposition to have made to an Englishman, but it answered very well with the poor Turks, and they readily agreed to it--not doubting but he would keep his word when they had a lady in pawn who was so very "_dear_" to him; and they took their departure for the metropolis by the first coach that passed; the "college-man" taking a tender farewell of the lady, and the simple _Mussulmen_ escorting her along the road with as much care as though they had been conducting some fair Circassian to the Seraglio of the Grand Seignor!

They arrived at the White Horse Cellar in due course, and waited day after day for the arrival of "the college-man;" but to their _astonishment_ he never came, and their patience and faith evaporating together, they at length sought redress, by applying to the Secretary of State, as above stated.

The magistrate said, it appeared that the collegian, by this unprincipled trick, had "killed two birds with one stone,"--he had rid himself of his creditor and his mistress at once.

The stratagem, he said, was the more unprincipled, inasmuch as it was played off upon foreigners, who were utterly ignorant of the customs of the country, but unfortunately it did not come within his jurisdiction, and therefore he could render no assistance.

His worship then recommended them to apply to a solicitor; and the interpreter tried hard to make them understand the nature of a solicitor, but the strangers only shook their turban'd heads and shrugged their shoulders in reply; and, so doing, they walked out of the office.

JOHN BROWN.

One of the churchwardens of St. Anne's, Soho, appeared in custody before the magistrate, to answer the complaint of John Brown.

John Brown--or, more courteously speaking, Mr. John Brown--is landlord of a respectable inn, in Essex, and a jolly landlord he is--plump, unctuous, and rosy; and being at that time blessed with a fine pair of bloodshot eyes, his countenance looked as glowingly rubicund as a full-blown Patagonian peony.

John Brown, it appeared, had a correspondent in London, named B--, who some time before accepted a bill in his favour, and within a few days, John Brown had received a letter from a Mr. D.

, informing him that his friend Mr. B.

would not be able to honour his acceptance, because _Mrs.

B.

had eloped_!

This was sad news for John Brown.

He felt for his friend who had lost his wife; he felt more for himself, who was likely to lose his money; and, what with the wife and the money, and the money and the wife, he was puzzled exceedingly.

But he was not the man to sit idly twirling his thumbs and bothering his brains, when there was a chance of mending the matter by using his legs; and so, having set his affairs at home in order, he came bang up at once to London, determined (like King Lear) to do something--though what he knew not.

In the first place, he called upon Mr. D.

, for Mr. B.

was from home--roving round the country in search of his faithless spouse, poor man!

John Brown and Mr. D.

laid their heads together; and, indeed, John Brown could not have come more opportunely, for Mr. D.

had just got intelligence that the runagate Mrs. B.

, and her paramour, Lieutenant H. , were concealed at No. 19, Carlisle-street, Soho.

"Ho!

ho!"

thought John Brown to himself, "now I'll do the business genteelly--I'll get poor B. his wife again--I'll _baste_ the blackguard that took her away, and I'll get my bill honoured, _all quite regular_."

Full of this hope and expectation, he instantly sallied forth on his way to No. 19, Carlisle-street, Soho; but, unfortunately, John Brown's memory "lacked retention"--the number of the house imperceptibly evaporated as he went along--by the time he reached Carlisle-street, _ten_ of the nineteen had completely vanished from his recollection, and so he boldly knocked at the door of No. 9. Now No. 9 was the residence of a most respectable maiden lady, the daughter of a late magistrate, and of very retired habits.

But what was all that to John Brown?

he had as little doubt of his having mistaken the house as he had of his own existence.

The door was opened by one of the maid-servants, and John Brown, with his fine flaming physiognomy, strode manfully into the hall.

The girl, with the open door still in her hand, stared after him with surprise.

--"Shut the door, young woman!"

said the peremptory John Brown, "shut the door, young woman, and show me up to the _missis_."

"My mistress, Sir!"

said the astonished girl;--"it's impossible--she is not up."

"Aye, that won't do for me," replied John Brown, "I must, and I will see her directly--so show me up stairs!"

The girl became alarmed, and called her fellow-servant;

whilst John Brown continued marching about the hall, wiping the dewy moisture from his blushing brows, and vociferating aloud, "You baggages!

you know all about it!

But I won't be gammoned!

--you know the _missis_ is in bed with Lieutenant H.!

But I'll have him out in spite of you!"

At length the two girls together prevailed upon him to moderate his choler a little, and write a note to their mistress.

They furnished him with pen, ink, and paper, and he set about it lustily; but he wrote and wrote, and could write nothing to his mind.

He threw his coat off, and tried again;

but still it would not do.

Then he recollected that he had been bled the day before, and that the bandage might possibly impede the flow of his thoughts as well as the motion of his pen.

Up goes his shirt sleeve in an instant; and stretching out his brawny arm, he ordered the girls to unloose the bandage; but by this time they had no doubt that honest John Brown was neither more nor less than a madman, and one of them slipped out of door and requested Mr. N.

, the churchwarden, who resided immediately opposite, to come to him.

The churchwarden came, just as John Brown had managed to unroll the bandage from his arm himself, and was taking pen in hand to have another try at writing.

He demanded John Brown's business there, and John Brown told him all about it without bating an inch.

When he had done, the churchwarden told him he was either mad, or was labouring under some gross mistake.

John Brown was doubly fired at this--his countenance, from a glowing red, became of a mahogany tint, and he manifested symptoms of kicking up a row.

But the churchwarden was not to be frightened by "the blustering of a _turkey-cock_;" and so, quietly grasping John Brown by the arm, he "_walked_ him out of the house;" and walked him, and walked him along the street, till he had walked him into the office of the lady's solicitor, in order that he might be dealt with according to law for his strange intrusion into her house.

But the solicitor happened to be from home, and John Brown was suffered to go at large; whereupon he repaired to the nearest tavern, took a bumper of brandy and water to reconglomerate his faculties, and then applied at this office for a warrant against the churchwarden,--who, as he said, had dared to walk him out of one house into another.

The magistrate having heard the business from beginning to end, with great patience, dismissed the warrant, and told John Brown he might think himself well off that it was no worse.

This is the end of John Brown's adventures, as far as we are acquainted with them.

JOHN SAUNDERS ON HORSEBACK: A NARRATIVE;

Showing how, like John Gilpin, he went further than he intended, and got safe home again.

_Mr.

John Saunders_, a remarkably soft-spoken, mild young man, of demure carriage, slender proportions, and rather respectable appearance, was placed at the bar, under a (not very violent) suspicion of having stolen a horse; but it turned out that the suspicion was groundless, and that instead of John Saunders stealing the horse, the horse stole John Saunders!

It appeared that as Mr. Stephen Marchant, of Turnham-green, was riding quietly homewards from town, between eight and nine o'clock in the evening, his horse got a pebble in one of his feet, which made him go lame, and Mr. Marchant alighted to extract it.

Whilst he was busied in this operation, who should come up offering assistance but John Saunders, with a large white band-box in one hand, and an umbrella in the other.

Mr. Marchant accepted his help with many thanks; and John Saunders, setting down his band-box in the road, began grubbing away at the unlucky pebble with the spike of his umbrella, whilst Mr. Marchant held up the foot of the horse; and he grubbed and grubbed at it, so earnestly, that at last the spike of the umbrella "broke off as short as a carrot."

Well, what was to be done now?

Why Mr. Marchant, thinking he could knock out the pebble with a large stone, asked John Saunders to hold the horse whilst he looked for one; and John Saunders readily undertook to do so; but whilst Mr. Marchant was groping about, in the dark, for the stone, he saw, to his utter astonishment, John Saunders on the back of the horse, scampering away towards Kensington as if the deuce was in him--his umbrella tucked close under his arm, and his great white band-box banging about from side to side _like mad_, as he said.

Mr. Marchant stood aghast for a moment, and then followed, crying "Stop thief!

Stop thief!"

with all his might.

Every horseman on the road, the horse-patrol and many foot passengers, hearing this cry, scampered after John Saunders with might and main, and the hue and cry sounded far and wide-- "Stop thief!

stop thief!

--a highwayman!"

Not one of them was mute;

And all and each that passed that way Did join in the pursuit.

And still, as fast as he drew near, 'Twas wonderful to view How in a trice the turnpike men Their gates wide open threw.

--Tramp!

tramp!

away he went, through merry Kensington, down Phillimore Place, dashing by Holland House, and so away for Hammersmith, with a continually increasing rabble rout at his heels.

But John Saunders gained upon them at every bound of his steed; he shot through Hammersmith-gate with the rapidity of lightning, and wheeling round to the left, down Fulham-lane, he got so far a-head of his pursuers, that they could see nothing but his great white band-box--as it went bobbing and swinging from side to side at his back.

Down Fulham-lane, however, they followed him, slap bang!

--and on they went, hallooing and hooting, through mud and through mire, through fog and moonshine, till at last he took a desperate leap over the fence of a ploughed field; and when the foremost of his pursuers came up to the gap, even the bobbing of his band-box was invisible!

--In _plain_ terms, he fairly "tipped 'em the double"--he was vanished; and Mr. Marchant having thus lost his horse, was under the annoying necessity of--getting home how he could.

On the following morning Mr. Marchant repaired to town on foot, to give notice of the robbery to the police; and almost the first object that caught his eye, on getting into Piccadilly, was John Saunders--still mounted on his Bucephalus, but without either band-box or umbrella.

He stared at John Saunders--John Saunders stared at him; and they gradually drew near to each other without a word being uttered on either side.

Having conglomerated, John Saunders offered him his horse again--telling him he had "mounted it by accident," and it ran away with him; that he wished it at the _dooce_, almost, for taking him so far from home; and that he was come to town for the sole purpose of advertising in the _noosepapers_ for its owner.

When he had told the astonished Mr. Marchant all this, he dismounted; gave the bridle rein into Mr. Merchant's hand, and then produced the manuscript of his intended advertisement.

But Mr. Marchant having no idea of a man's "mounting a horse by _accident_," seized John Saunders by the collar, and gave him in charge to one of the passing patrol, who brought him to this office.

So far was Mr. Marchant's statement of the affair; and, he having concluded, John Saunders was called upon for his defence.

John Saunders, as we have already stated, was a remarkably mild, quiet young man; and he told a story--or rather a story was drawn out of him bit by bit, of which the following is the substance:--He resided with his mama at Clapham--was himself "brought up in the glass line," (and truly he seemed as _transparent_ as glass,) but was then out of business.

On the afternoon preceding the night on which he met with Mr. Marchant and his wicked horse, his _mama_ sent him to her milliner's, at Kensington, to bring home a bonnet and feathers which she had sent there to be "done up."

He went to Kensington--called upon a friend, who gave him some Scotch ale--went to the milliner, who put the bonnet and feathers in a large white band-box, and he was quietly returning home to Clapham with it, when he fell in with the gentleman, and his horse with a pebble in his foot: but he wished he never had fallen in with them; for he had been made very miserable by it.

He offered his services to get the pebble out, and spoiled his umbrella; he undertook to hold the horse while the gentleman looked for a stone, and the Scotch ale, having got into his head, as he supposed, induced him to get on the horse's back--quite contrary to his intention.

The horse ran away with him directly--directly contrary to the way he wished to go--he was hurried along, in a dreadful manner, he knew not whither, till the horse stopped at Brompton; and then he found that the large white band-box was worn almost to tatters by its excessive agitation on horseback, and that one of the feathers of his mother's bonnet was sadly broken.

He then considered within himself that it would be impossible to find the gentleman to whom the horse belonged that night;

and, having bought a new band-box for his mother's bonnet, he rode home to Clapham, put the horse in a butcher's stable, gave it some corn, had his own supper, and went to bed dreadfully tired.

In the morning he got up early, wrote an advertisement about the horse, and was coming to town to put it in the papers, when he met the gentleman, who was very angry with him, and gave him into custody.

Mr. Marchant, in reply, said he was inclined to believe his story, but he thought it right he should be told authoritatively that he was not to play such pranks with impunity.

The magistrate, therefore, gave John Saunders a suitable admonition, and dismissed him.

'PON MY HONOUR IT'S TRUE.

A German mechanic having laid information at this office that a countryman of his, named Schultz, residing in Green Street, Leicester Square, was kept in a state of durance, in his own house, by an Englishwoman, who, he verily believed, had a design both upon his life and property, the magistrate sent some officers to bring the parties before him.

They accordingly proceeded to the house, but the English lady peremptorily refused them admission, and it was several hours before they were able to effect an entrance.

At length, however, they brought the parties to the office in a hackney coach--for the lady was too magnificent to walk, and the poor old German was so afflicted with paralysis, that he was carried before the magistrate on the back of one of his countrymen.

He was indeed a miserable object--his limbs utterly useless--his eyes dull and unnaturally protruding--his beard unshaved--his hair matted with feathers--and his whole person disgustingly filthy.

The lady, on the contrary, was a fine bouncing woman, of rather handsome countenance, gaily dressed in a fashionable bonnet and plume, and her fat white fingers covered with glittering rings.

Nevertheless she bodily professed that she _loved_ the poor emaciated, dirty, paralytic old man;

and she affirmed that all her attentions to him were purely disinterested.

He was exactly in the same state, she said, when she first became acquainted with him, five years ago--not worth a single sixpence, over head and ears in debt, half crazy, of filthy habits, lame, old, and impotent--and yet she _loved_ him--loved him for himself alone.

("Oh!

who doth know the bent of woman's phantasy?"

as Master Spenser saith.

) She delivered these _fibs_--for fibs they surely must be--in the short, quick, _staccato_ manner, perfectly at her ease, and alternately munching an orange and blowing her nose between every word.

She had a solicitor, too, in attendance upon her--a little wee man, inclining to threescore, who evidently spent more in hair-powder than in soap; and to him she appealed at the close of every sentence she uttered--"'Pon my honour it's true!

--there's my solicitor, ask him;" and the solicitor as regularly bowed his powdered little head in assent.

The wretched old German stated, that this lady came as a lodger to his house in the first instance, and took every opportunity of attending to him in his illness; till at length, finding she had ingratiated herself with him, she proposed to him to make her his wife.

This he very ungallantly declined; and she contented herself with only passing for his wife, and assuming more than the privileges of one.

She turned out his lodgers, and got creatures of her own in lieu of them.

She forbade his friends and countrymen from coming near him.

She pretended they only wanted to rob him, and prevailed on him to make his will, leaving all his property to her; and having accomplished this, she confined him in a little room, fed him scantily, and beat him whenever he remonstrated with her on her altered conduct.

In conclusion, he expressed his thankfulness that he had been rescued from her tyranny, and implored the magistrate to protect him from her in future.

The magistrate said he could easily afford protection to his person, but he wished to protect his property also.

The solicitor here informed his worship, that the complainant had no property to protect--inasmuch as he had given the lady a bill of sale of all he possessed, in consideration of a hundred pounds she had lent him at different times.

This, the wretched old foreigner denied.

He declared that she had never lent him but 13_l.

_, and even that she forced upon him; that he knew nothing of any bill of sale, and that she had taken away the lease of his house, and hid it.

A long desultory altercation ensued, and eventually this disinterested lady was ordered to find bail for repeatedly assaulting the object of her love; and not being prepared with any, she was delivered into the custody of the gaoler, whilst the old man was carried out of the office again on the back of his countryman.