Mornings at Bow Street — Page 74-92

CORINTHIANISM.

Mr. Christopher Clutterbuck and Mr. Dionysius Dobbs were charged with having created a great uproar and disturbance in the lobbies of Drury-lane Theatre on the previous evening, and with having grievously assaulted certain peace-officers, who attempted to quell the said disturbance, by taking the said Christopher Clutterbuck and Dionysius Dobbs into custody.

These gentlemen were _Corinthians_--that is to say, in the fashion of the time, gentlemen who were "_up_, _down_, and _fly_ to every thing."

They were brought from Covent Garden watch-house, together with a gang of young thieves, disorderly cobblers, drunken prostitutes, houseless vagabonds, and other off-scourings of society; and a very respectable appearance they made.

--Christopher Clutterbuck, a long, sturdy, burly-boned, short-visaged, curly-headed, whiskerless subject, with a hat of that cut called a _kiddy shallow_, and an enormous pair of bull's-eye spectacles; and Dionysius Dobbs, a lean, lack-beardical, long-faced, sunken-cheeked, hollow-eyed, cossack-waisted concern, with a very gentlemanly imperfection of vision, and a silver eye-glass to correspond.

And there they were, for nearly an hour before the arrival of the magistrate, crammed among the tagrag-and-bobtail in the common waiting room, or _sweating_-room, as it is sometimes more properly called.

--Mr. Kit Clutterbuck, strutting to and fro, with arms a-kimbo, as vigorous as a turkey-cock; and Dionysius Dobbs, lolling upon one of the forms, lifting his eye-glass from time to time, and gasping like an expiring magpie;

whilst the torn and bemudded _toggery_ of each of them, all tacked together with pins, gave ample proof of their love of "_Life_."

The magistrates having taken their seats, the demolished Corinthians were ushered into their presence, and a charge, of which the following is the substance, was exhibited against them.

Between the third and fourth acts of the play--which happened very appropriately to be _Wild Oats_--they were swaggering about the lobbies, insulting every body that came in their way; the "big one"--that is to say, Mr. Kit Clutterbuck--offering to _mill_ "any body in the world," and repeatedly exclaiming--"Oh!

that a man of my own powers would come athwart me!"

and the "thin one" (that's Mr. Dionysius Dobbs) lisping responsively--"That's your sort!

Go it, Kitty my _covy_!"

Nobody taking the challenge, _Kitty my covy_, in the overflowing of his Corinthianism, seized his friend, the delicate Mr. Dionysius Dobbs, and dashing him against the wall of the lobby, shattered one of the lamps with his empty _knowledge-box_.

Dionysius Dobbs took the concussion in good part; but Mr. Spring, the box book-keeper, who happened to witness the feat, was not so well pleased, and sent for Bond, the officer, to remove them.

Bond prevailed upon them to be a little more quiet; and the loss of the lamp was overlooked.

But in a quarter of an hour after, he found them taking indelicate liberties with the wretched women in the saloons, sparring, bellowing, and capering, like a pair of drunken _ourang-outangs_, as he said, to the great danger of the mirrors, and the scandal of the _saloon itself_.

He again attempted to remonstrate with them; but all he could get from them was a challenge to fight, from _Kitty my covy_; and therefore he called for the assistance of his brother officers, determined to remove them entirely from the theatre.

A posse of other officers came to his assistance; and then began what the Corinthians called a _prime spree_--viz.

, Billingsgate bellowings, black eyes, broken coxcombs, and rending of garments; Kitty Clutterbuck swinging his arms about like the sails of a windmill; Dionysius Dobbs shrieking and clinging to the balustrades like a monkey in hysterics; and the officers dragging at their collars in front, and twisting at their tails behind; and in this fashion they were, by degrees, _worked_ out of the theatre into the street.

And then, as they had been so very obstreperous and Corinthianish, the officers determined to deposit them in the disorderly depot of the watch-house.

In their way thither, Kitty Clutterbuck got hold of an officer's hand, and gave it such a twist that three of the fingers were dislocated, and the tendons of the wrist very seriously injured.

When they got into the watch-house, Kitty conducted himself more like a mad bull than any thing else--butting and bellowing at every thing that came in his way.

His honour, the nocturnal constable, therefore, ordered that he should be put down below--in the subterranean _boudoir_; but Mr. Christopher Clutterbuck blew up the boudoir, and his honour too, in good set terms, and threatened his honour, moreover, with the high displeasure of a certain noble marquis.

"Tut!

none of your gammon!"

retorted his honour; and Mr. Christopher Clutterbuck was forthwith "quoited down stairs like a shove-groat shilling;" but not before he had grievously avenged himself on the persons of his _quoiters_.

There were five of them engaged in the service, and every one of them came off halting.

These matters having been duly set forth in evidence before the magistrates, they called upon the conquered constable-quelled Corinthians for their defence.

Whereupon Mr. Christopher Clutterbuck, with many propitiatory deviations from the perpendicular, delivered himself thus:-- "Your worships--that is to say, your worships, I--_hem_!

I beg pardon, your worships, but I don't know.

It is extremely awkward--all I can say is--that is, all I have to offer is, that I--belong to--to his Majesty's service, _hem_!

But unfortunately--unfortunately, your worships, have not been in the habit of being much in _town_, and--the fact is, your worships, I really don't know exactly; but this gentleman (Mr. Dionysius Dobbs) is my friend--my particular friend, and a gentleman, as you perceive--that is, he is a gentleman, I assure you.

I suppose your worships, we were not in our regular senses--certainly we could not be--we were not so sober as we might have been at sometimes, I suppose; but the fact is, no doubt, I imagine, we must make amends for any damage we have done, certainly."

Mr. Dionysius Dobbs said nothing.

Once or twice he essayed to speak, but what he had to say stuck in his throat.

So he gasped piteously; and looked unutterable things, with an aspect so droopingly lack-a-daisical, that the very officers seemed sorry for him.

Their worships, however, commented severely upon their misdeeds, and ordered that they should put in good and sufficient bail for their appearance at the Quarter Sessions, there to answer to five distinct indictments for assault.

Mr. Christopher Clutterbuck in 100_l.

_, with two sureties in 50_l.

_ each; and Mr. Dionysius Dobbs in 80_l.

_, with two sureties in 40_l.

_ each.

They had no bail ready, and were locked up all day, among other unfortunates, in the iron room.

In the evening they gave the required bail; and, meanwhile, the Grand Jury returned five true bills against them.

But they were never brought to trial; for, before the next Sessions, they found means to make their peace with the injured officers, at an expense of some forty or fifty pounds.

And this is worshipful _Corinthianism_.

A DEBT OF HONOUR.

This was a proceeding, by warrant, for an assault and battery, arising out of the non-settlement of a debt of honour.

Mr. Elias Simmons, the complainant, is of the children of Israel; a fat, round man, of a pleasant countenance, and addicted to luxuriating in brown stout and a pipe, in the little back parlour at the Cannon Tavern--a comfortable public-house, somewhere in Knightsbridge.

The defendant, Mr. Jacques Breton, is a native of Switzerland; tall, gaunt, and elderly, with a nice sense of honour, "sudden and quick in quarrel," and, withal, in the practice of sometimes taking a half-gill of old sherry in a goblet of pure spring water, at the Cannon Tavern aforesaid.

He appeared before the magistrate with a large black silk handkerchief bound round his head, so as to cover one of his eyes.

On the day named in the warrant, it being between four and five o'clock in the afternoon, Mr. Elias Simmons was in the little back parlour at the tavern aforesaid, luxuriating as aforesaid, and several other gentlemen, then and there assembled, were luxuriating in like manner, when the door opened, and in stalked Mr. Jacques Breton; who, having seated himself, rang the bell and ordered his sherry and water as usual.

Now it so happened that Mr. Jacques Breton was indebted to Mr. Elias Simmons in the sum of two shillings and sixpence; and, moreover, the said debt had been standing almost time immemorial, so that Mr. Elias Simmons was weary of waiting for it; and, as it was a "_debt of honour_," he began to entertain doubts that Mr. Jacques Breton meant to avail himself of that circumstance, and _forget_ to pay it.

He did not presume to say that such was the case, but he entertained that opinion; and the moment he saw Mr. Jacques Breton enter the room, he determined in his own mind to put it to the proof.

Howbeit, knowing Mr. Jacques Breton's constitutional irascibility, and unwilling to wound his feelings before the English gentlemen present, he addressed him in French, viz.

, "_Monsieur--voulez-vous--donner moi--mon leetel demiecu, monsieur?

_" To which civil interrogation--put with all the good humour in the world--Mr. Jacques Breton instantly replied, "_Ahah!

sacre!

vat?

you want to 'front me!

_"--and seizing a heavy _cue_ from a bagatelle board on the table, he grasped it in both hands, and, before the company could interfere, he gave Mr. Elias Simmons a "thundering _thwack_" on the bare head, which shivered his tobacco-pipe into a thousand pieces, and laid him prostrate among the spittoons!

For this outrageous and totally unanticipated attack, Mr. Elias Simmons now sought redress from the laws of that country in which he has the honour of sojourning.

The magistrate having strictly inquired whether no other provocation had been given, and having been assured there had not, asked Mr. Jacques Breton what he had to say in excuse for such violence?

Mr. Jacques Breton prepared for his defence by throwing back his head and lifting up the black silk handkerchief before-mentioned; and having placed himself in this unpicturesque position, he began--"_Ahah!

monsieur_--see--he broke my eye!

_Voila, monsieur!

_ see my eye!

_Voila!

_" It was very evident that beneath his black handkerchief he had a dreadful black eye, and the magistrate asked how he came by it?

The witnesses replied that it was done in disarming him of the _cue_, whilst complainant was still sprawling among the spittoons.

Mr. Jacques Breton proceeded with his defence.

"I vas ver much vex at Monsieur Simmon," said he, "because I vood pay ven it satisfied myself.

I

vas so mush up--vat you call d--n angry, dat de taut come I vood punise him, ahah.

But, monsieur, de _strike_ vas not sufficient to murder von littel--von vara littel fly!"

Monsieur Jacques Breton had nothing better to offer in his defence, and after having repeated the same things half-a-dozen times over, he was delivered into the iron custody of the turnkey till he should find bail for his appearance at the Sessions.

CHEAP DINING.

A person of very respectable exterior was brought before the magistrate, charged with assaulting the waiter, and destroying the property, of an eating-house proprietor in the neighbourhood of Covent-garden.

Eating-houses, properly so called, are, as is well known to the initiated, vulgarly denominated "_slap-bang_ shops;" and certainly the affair of the defendant, in the present case, was a genuine slap-bang adventure.

The gentleman went into the house in question, and called for some roast beef, "under-done, and not too fat."

The waiter instantly brought him what they call "a _plate_" of roast beef--several good jolly slapping slices, swimming in twelve-water gravy, and duly displayed upon an ordinary-sized dinner plate.

"What the devil do you bring me such an infernal quantity for?"

asked the gentleman.

"Do you think I'm a coal porter, or a ploughman?

Take it away, you vagabond!

and bring me a more christian-like quantity--about half as much."

"Master doesn't make _half_ plates, sir," replied the waiter.

"Then I shall have none!"

rejoined the gentleman, and resuming his gloves, hat, and stick, he was about to make his exit in a rage; but the waiter, with plate of beef in hand, and napkin under arm, placed himself at the head of the stairs, seeking to cut off his retreat with a "Please to pay me for the beef, sir; it was cut by your orders, and you mustn't go till you have paid for it.

It only comes to ninepence, sir, _wedgittubles_ and all."

"Stand out of my way, you scoundrel!

or I'll knock you down!"

said the gentleman.

"I shan't, sir; you only wants to bilk[16] master, and bolt," replied the waiter.

This was enough.

In the next instant, a kick from the enraged gentleman sent the plate of beef spinning up to the ceiling; the waiter seized the gentleman by the collar, the gentleman grasped the waiter by the throat, and they struggled together for a moment, and then, down stairs they trundled together, slap bang on to a table just covered with smoking hot dishes of roast and boiled: the table was upset with the concussion, and in the next moment, the half-strangled combatants lay sprawling upon the floor, in the midst of shoulders of mutton, pieces of beef, _dabs_ of boiled cabbage, broken platters, capsized mustard-pots, and many other odd things too tedious to mention.

[Illustration] [Illustration: CHEAP DINING.

] The master-cook stood aghast at the horrible clatter occasioned by this comical catastrophe, and the ruin which accompanied it; but he was soon sufficiently recovered from his astonishment to gather the gentleman up again; and then, having had him well wiped down, he gave him in charge to a constable.

The constable carried him before the magistrate, as a matter of course, and the master-cook now sought compensation in damages for the injury done to his plates, dishes, and victuals, and the waiter sought a reparation for the bodily injury he had sustained.

The magistrate directed the gentleman to find bail to answer the complaint of the waiter at the Sessions; but he refused to make any order with respect to the damages upon the eatables; inasmuch as the waiter appeared to be as deeply implicated in that part of the business as the gentleman.

THE GENTLEMAN AND HIS BOOTS.

One morning in the dog-days, a gentleman presented himself before the magistrate to claim redress against a bootmaker, who, he said, had done him irreparable injury, and had wantonly inflicted upon him unheard-of torments--torments fit only for the howling inhabitants of _Tartarus_!

--This unfortunate gentleman had walked or rather _waddled_ into the office slip-shod, in green morocco slippers: whilst he spoke, he stood first upon one foot, and then upon the other; and there was such a manifestation of intense suffering in his voice, his countenance and his gesture, that every person present pitied him.

He said he had been miserable enough to have a dispute with his boot-maker, about a pair of boots which he had sent the rascal to repair;

and in that dispute he expressed himself more warmly, perhaps, than the occasion warranted; but he little thought he was to suffer for it in the way he had done.

Some days after the dispute above-mentioned, the boot-maker sent the boots home; and, on the next morning, he put them on, and walked out with the intention of calling upon several friends, with whom he had particular appointments.

But he had not walked more than two or three hundred yards, when his feet began to feel "cursedly uncomfortable;" and the more he walked and tried not to notice them, the more uncomfortable they became.

What the plague could be the matter with the boots, he could not imagine!

They were quite large enough, and the leather seemed soft and pliable; and yet, had they been made of iron, and two sizes too small for him, he could not have felt more uncomfortable.

Nevertheless--though with less and less of comfort, he still walked, and walked, until his walk became a downright ridiculous hobble; and at last, without having called upon a single friend, he returned home in as lamentable a condition as Peter Pindar's pea-perplexed Pilgrim-- "His eyes in tears, his cheeks and brows in sweat, Deep sympathizing with his groaning feet!"

"Bring the boot jack, Molly!"

--he exclaimed, in a paroxysm of perspiration.

Molly brought it in a moment, and, with eager anticipation of ease, he stuck his heel into it; but, alas!

he no sooner began to pull than his agonies were increased tenfold!

and the boot-jack was kicked away in despair.

In two minutes he tried it again--and again he suffered the most excruciating torment.

Oh!

miserable state!

--Hercules himself could not have suffered more whilst writhing in the poisoned shirt; and had the unlucky boot-maker been there at that moment, it is a hundred to one but he would have undergone the fate of the hapless Lychas--at least he would have stood a good chance of being well pulled by the nose, and perhaps knocked down with the boot-jack.

At last--for it is miserable to dwell upon such horrors--at last, the gentleman, sweating at every pore, and wound up almost to madness, thrust his heel once more into the yawning jack, and shutting his eyes, he pulled with such a desperate might, that his foot came forth indeed--but it came forth completely _flayed_.

Not only the stocking, but the skin was left behind--and even his very corns were torn up by the roots!

Can any one imagine a sharper operation than this must have been?

And then to be obliged to undergo a similar operation on the other foot, too!

--Really it makes one perspire only to think of it.

However, it was inevitable[17]--the other foot was torn away in the same miserable manner, and it came forth from the bottom of the confounded boot almost as skinless as an anatomical preparation!

"And now, Sir," said the gentleman, when he had told his story thus far--"and now, Sir, what do you suppose was the cause of all this misery?"

"Upon my word," replied the magistrate, "I cannot imagine--I never heard of such a case before."

"Why, Sir," continued the gentleman, "it was _cobbler's wax_!"

"Cobbler's wax!"

echoed his worship.

"Cobbler's wax, Sir!"

re-echoed the gentleman.

--"The rascally boot-maker, in pure revenge for the scolding I gave him--had, with _malice prepense_, lined the foot of each boot with cobbler's wax!

and I trust, Sir, you will punish him soundly for such unwarrantable wickedness."

The magistrate observed that it was altogether a new case; and, though it certainly was a most unpleasant one, he feared it could not be brought within his jurisdiction.

The gentleman suggested that, it would probably come under the Act for _preventing the wanton destruction of property_.

His stockings were utterly destroyed; his boots were totally spoiled; and his feet were cruelly scarified!

All this had been done wantonly and wilfully, he said;

and in corroboration of the premises, he now produced from his pocket the dangling remains of the stockings he wore on the agonizing occasion.

The stockings were utterly spoiled; and after much urging on the part of the gentleman, his worship consented that a summons should be issued for the boot-maker's appearance.

However, it came to nothing; for in half an hour after, the gentleman waddled back to the office, and said the boot-maker and he had come to an _eclaircissement_ which would render his worship's interference unnecessary.

What was the nature of that _eclaircissement_ did not appear; but certainly the boot-maker who could have the heart to put a poor gentleman to so much misery ought no longer to call himself one of the "_gentle_ craft."