Mornings at Bow Street — Page 93-108

BEAUTY AND THE BROOMSTICK.

Mrs. Mary Evans was brought before the magistrate on a warrant charging her with an assault on the person of Miss Jemima Jennings.

Mrs. Mary Evans was a tall thin matron, somewhat declining into the vale of years; but her countenance--especially the most prominent part of it, which was very prominent indeed--was still blooming with spirituous comforts.

Miss Jemima Jennings was a very pretty mild-spoken young woman, with a countenance blooming with youth.

Miss Jemima deposed, that on a certain day named, she _happened_ to be going along a certain street, and, as the weather was very hot, she _happened_ to go into a certain public-house to take a glass of Henry Meux and Co.' s entire.

She there _happened_ to see a gentleman, who very politely asked her to take a glass of _something short_;[18] telling her it would _squench_ her thirst better than porter.

She resisted his invitation for some time; but at length she consented to take a drop of something short--a cool _dodger of cloves and brandy_;[19] and having drank it, she thanked the gentleman for his politeness, and went on her way--pretty considerably refreshed.

Next day, she _happened_ to go into the same public-house again--not with any expectation of meeting the same gentleman again, but with the sole intention of taking a dodger of cloves and brandy on her own account--she having derived great comfort from the one she took on the preceding day.

It so _happened_ that the gentleman was not there; at which she was very much pleased; for she could not "bear the _highdear_ of being _beholding_ to one gentleman two days together."

Whilst she was taking her cloves and brandy, thinking of nothing at all but how very nice it was, who should come in but the defendant, Mrs. Evans, with an "I want to speak to _you_, young woman."

Now she, Miss Jemima, thought this very comical, for the lady was a perfect stranger to her.

However, she followed her, up one street, and down another, till at last Mrs. Evans opened the door of a house and said, "pray walk in, _Mem_;" and in she did walk, wondering what all this could mean.

Mrs. Evans, having closed the door, made her a low courtesy, and said, "Have the kindness to walk this way, _Mem_;" and Miss Jemima followed her along the passage to an inner apartment, like a lamb to the slaughter-house, as she said; for they had no sooner entered the room, than Mrs. Evans seized a _broomstick_, and without uttering a single word, began to belabour her over the back and shoulders with all her might!

Miss Jemima shrieked or _squeeked_, as she called it, for help; but not a soul came to her assistance; and she was obliged to defend herself as well as she could with her hands alone, till Mrs. Evans dropped her broomstick for lack of breath; and then she, Miss Jemima, made her way out of the house, covered with bruises and wonder.

This was the unprovoked assault complained of and for this Miss Jemima Jennings claimed redress at the hands of the magistrate.

Mrs. Evans made a very voluble defence.

She was cursed with a husband, she said, who--though she had brought him twelve children--was continually hankering after other women.

On Monday last he went out, taking with him six _goolden_ sovereigns, which she had put by to pay her coal-merchant, and he did not come near home for three whole days thereafter.

Some of her neighbours told her that he had been seen courting the complainant (Miss Jemima) with cloves and brandy; and she was so _hasperated_ at hearing this, that she certainly did entice Miss Jemima to her house, and _bansell_ her with the broomstick as she had described.

In conclusion, she admitted that she was wrong in so doing, but her passion got the better of her judgment, and she hoped his worship would consider that as an excuse.

It was very hard, she said, for a woman at her time of life to be neglected for such _creatures_.

The magistrate told her he thought she ought not to have proceeded to such a violent outrage upon the complainant, without better proof that she was the cause of her husband's faithlessness; but as jealousy was an ungovernable passion, and as she appeared to repent of her violence, he would order the warrant to be suspended for a day or two, in the hope that she would in that time make her peace with the complainant, and save herself further trouble and expense.

THE COCKNEY AND THE CAPTAIN.

Captain J---- F----, a gallant officer, who had lost an eye in the service of his country, and was residing with his family in the pleasant village of Mortlake, was brought before the magistrate, on a warrant, charging him with having assaulted and beaten one Samuel Cooper, who called himself "a London shop-keeper, in a small way, residing in _Vitechapple_."

Samuel Cooper, it appears, went out to ruralise one fine sunny day, and having strolled as far as Mortlake, he called upon a friend of his, a little fat man in a brown bob wig, who keeps a little shop in the neighbourhood of that village.

It is a sweet little cottage, with a little garden in front of it, well stored with potherbs, "gilli-flowers gentle and rosemarie;" and has a little wicket gate opening to the road.

His bob-wigg'd friend was _mighty_ glad to see him, and invited him to stay to dinner; an invitation which was gladly accepted, for Samuel Cooper was come out to make a day of it.

They had a dish of very nice beans and bacon for dinner--broad Windsors, and a prime cut of gammon; and having chatted an hour or two, and finished a couple of pots of mild porter, Samuel Cooper walked out into the little garden in front of the cottage, and leaned over the little wicket-gate, enjoying the beauties of the prospect and a lovely evening, whilst his bob-wigg'd friend was busied with some little matters in his shop.

As Samuel Cooper was thus leaning over the gate--pondering, no doubt, on the possibility of getting back to _Vitechapple_, without paying coach-hire--he was aware of two ladies coming along the lane.

One of these ladies was a considerable distance behind the other; and when the foremost of them came nearly opposite to the place where Samuel Cooper stood, she stooped--apparently without seeing him--and began rectifying the lace of one of her boots, which appeared to have got loose in walking.

Now, whether Samuel Cooper is a man prone to gallantry, or whether the delightful evening, the beans and bacon, and the mild porter, opened his heart more than usual, we know not--but so it was, that when he saw the lady stoop, and begin doing something at her foot, he suddenly called to her, "Shall I tie up your boot-lace for you, Ma'am?"

Unlucky Samuel Cooper!

The words had scarcely passed his lips when the lady raised herself, looked round for a moment, gave a loud shriek, and ran off down the lane with the speed of an antelope--followed by the loitering lady whom Samuel had seen in the distance.

Samuel Cooper looked after them as they ran, and smiled to think that women should be so "_timmersome_."

But he soon had cause to smile on the other side of his mouth, as it were; for in the next moment Captain F---- rushed into the garden, exclaiming, "You rascal!

how dare you insult a lady?"

and before the astonished Samuel could reply, he received the gallant Captain's clenched fist full on the centre of his nose, and down he went--all amongst his bob-wigg'd friend's gilliflowers!

The Captain then walked away; and the luckless Samuel gathered himself up, leaned his head over the wicket-gate, and there he stood bleeding for more than half an hour, bemoaned both by himself and his bob-wigg'd friend.

This was the violence he complained of.

He assured his worship that he had not the most distant idea of insulting the lady, and he was utterly astonished at the consequences that ensued.

"Thou shalt be punished for thus frighting me, A _woman_, naturally born to fears;

And though thou now confess thou didst but jest, With my vex'd spirits I cannot make a truce, But they will quake and tremble all this day,"-- said Lady Constance to William Longsword, Earl of Salisbury, when he merely told her there was a wedding in hand; and what would she have said had the noble Earl startled her with such an offer as Samuel Cooper's?

But, may be, honest Samuel has tied up the boot-laces of many a buxom lass at _Vitechapple_, and he thought he might do the same kind service for the ladies at Mortlake.

Ah!

simple Samuel Cooper!

The whole of his statement, as far as the Captain was concerned, was fully substantiated by his bob-wigg'd friend, whose garden had been watered, as it were, with Samuel's innocent blood; and then, Captain F---- was called upon for his defence.

The gallant Captain gave a rather different account of the affair: and took off something from Samuel's veracity.

The Captain said his wife and sister had gone to visit a friend at some distance on the afternoon in question, and some time afterwards he set out with the intention of meeting and accompanying them home; but a sudden shower coming on, he took shelter in the house of a brother officer on the road.

Whilst he remained there, he saw his wife and sister pass by, and he was just preparing to follow them when he heard his wife shriek.

Rushing instantly from the house, he met both the ladies running back again with great trepidation and alarm.

He hastily inquired what was the matter.

They told him as hastily, that they had been grossly insulted by the complainant, Samuel, who still stood chuckling at the gate.

He naturally felt very angry, and immediately went up to Samuel, and taking him gently by the lappel of his coat, he said to him, "Now my good fellow, unless you make an apology to the ladies, for your insult, I certainly will chastise you."

"Boo!"

--said the boorish Samuel--"I'll see 'em d--d first!"

and as he said this he threw his arms up in such a manner that his elbow struck the Captain on the chin; whereupon the Captain knocked him down, as above stated; and he submitted that any other man would have done the same under the same circumstances.

The magistrate viewed the matter in the same light.

He told Samuel, his conduct to the lady was extremely impertinent; and his manner, when remonstrated with, grossly insolent; and therefore he should discharge the warrant, leaving him to seek his remedy at the Quarter Sessions, if he thought proper.

Samuel stared, and appeared inclined to reply, but seeing it was useless, he left the office in silence, wondering more than ever; and his bob-wigg'd friend slowly followed him.

JEMMY SULLIVAN.

A jocund little Irishman, with dark sparkling eyes and black glossy well-curled poll, dressed in a carter's frock, and heavy travel-stained shoes, was brought in by some of the patrol, who had found him strolling about Long-acre, in the dusk of the evening, apparently without either aim or object, and laden with a large bundle tied up in a very handsome shawl.

This bundle contained seven gowns, sundry shawls, handkerchiefs, hose, &c. , and a smartly-trimmed straw-bonnet nearly new; and the patrol declared, that from the very unsatisfactory manner in which he accounted for his possession of these articles, they verily believed he had stolen them.

They also pointed out to the magistrate a round hole, about the size of a shilling, in the side of his hat crown, which they strongly suspected had been made by a pistol-ball.

"What is your name, friend?"

said his worship, to the brilliant-eyed, smiling prisoner.

"Jemmy Sullivan!

your honour," was the instantaneous reply, in a rich Tipperary brogue, and a tone so loud, that all the office echoed, "Jemmy Sullivan!"

"And pray, where did you bring these clothes from, and to whom do they belong?"

"From Portsmouth, your honour--and they belongs to the wife o' me."

The magistrate doubted the correctness of this statement--it was not likely that the wife of such a man could have such a wardrobe.

"Sure enough it's the truth, every bit of it, your honour," replied Jemmy Sullivan.

"How came this hole in your hat?"

asked his worship.

"Is it the hole your honour's axing about?

--'Faith, then, the mice made it, to get at the bread and the cheese, your honour--bad luck to 'em!"

"What!

do you carry your bread and cheese in your hat?"

"No, 'faith, your honour, not a bit of it any time, barrin that time the mice stole it all; and then, your honour, it was not in it, that's the hat, at that same time, but on the shelf, your honour, and I'd none of it left for me breakfast at all.

Gad's blood, says I to meself, but ye shan't do that to me again, says I, for I'll put it under me hat all the night;

and so I did, your honour; but bad luck to them, the craturs, they bored the hole clane through the side of it, which your honour's axing about."

"Are you sure it was not on _your head_ when the ball was fired at it?"

asked his worship, without seeming to have listened to his bread and cheese adventure.

"Was it on me head, your honour!

Faith if it was, meself wouldn't be here spaking to you about the mice," replied Jemmy Sullivan.

The officers, in searching his pockets, had found a number of English and Irish pawnbrokers' duplicates; and the magistrate, selecting one of them, asked,-- "Where did you get this ticket for a pelisse?"

"Bought it, your honour, of Myke Dermot, in Donaghadee--_He's a bagpipes_, your honour."

"And pray what are you?"

"A tailor, your honour," was the reply.

But one of the patrol, who is skilful in such matters, having examined his hands, declared, that if he was a tailor, he had not used the needle for twelve months at least.

"What have you to say to that, Mr. Sullivan?"

asked his worship.

"Bad luck to the _tailoring_, your honour, it wouldn't agree with me at all, anyhow, and I discharged meself clane out of it, by the same token, Sir."

"And how have you got your living since?"

"I walks down be the water-side, your honour, an gets me little bits o' reeds an things, and ties 'em up like little bagpipes, and plays on 'em, your honour, _Thady you Gander_ an _Gramachree_, and the likes of 'em; an the jontelmen plases to hear me, your honour; an some gives me a shilling, an some half-a-crown, may be, an some buys the little bagpipes for themselves, your honour."

Honest Jemmy endeavoured to make the nature of these "little bagpipes" very plain to his honour; but he did not seem to understand it exactly himself, and so he made nothing of it.

Neither could he account for his bringing his wife's wardrobe up to London whilst she remained herself in Portsmouth; and eventually he was committed for further examination.

Even this order for his imprisonment he took in perfect good humour; and having carefully counted the ten or twelve shillings which the magistrate ordered to be returned to him, he replaced them at the very bottom of his pocket, and said, "I hopes your honour'll take care o' me things?"

The magistrate assured him he would, and honest Jemmy Sullivan then followed the turnkey as blithely as if he had been going to Donnybrook Fair instead of to prison.

This poor fellow was kept in prison nearly a month, during which time his wife came to London, and not hearing anything of him at the place they had appointed for their meeting, she went over to Ireland in search of him.

At length Jemmy was discharged because there was no evidence against him; but his clothes were not given up to him till long after.

ONE OF THE FANCY.

A poor harmless translator of old shoes was placed at the bar by a city officer, upon a charge of having stolen, or otherwise improperly obtained, a cheque for 300_l.

_ from one Jonathan Freshfield, _Esquire_, "one of the Fancy."

This Jonathan Freshfield, Esq.

, was a diminutive, forked-radish sort of a young man, very fashionably attired, or, as he would say, _kiddily togg'd_; and, though it was scarcely noon, he was rather _queer in the attic_; that is to say, not exactly sober.

He stated his case in this manner:--"Here--I wish this fellow to say how he got hold o' my cheque for three hundred--that's all, you know; let him come that, and I shall be satisfied.

Rum go--had it last night, missed it this morning--d----d rum go!

Here--here it is, see; payable at Hankey's--all right--grabbed him myself.

Went to Hankey's two hours 'fore Bank opened--waited two hours--sat upon little stool--wouldn't be done, you know.

In he comes with it--grabs him!

There he was--looked like a fool.

'Hallo!'

says I, 'how did you come by it?'

Mum.

Hadn't a word, you know.

Only let him come it now, all about it, and I'm satisfied.

Don't like to be done--a rum go, but can't stand it--that's all."

The city officer said he had been sent for to Hankey's to take the prisoner into custody; and having done so he carried him before the Lord Mayor; but as it appeared the offence, if there was any, had been committed in the county, his Lordship had referred the matter to Bow-street.

The magistrate asked to see the cheque, as the Esquire called it.

The officer produced it, and it proved not to be a cheque, but an acknowledgment from Messrs. Hankey and Co. that they had received 300_l.

_ from Jonathan Freshfield, Esq.

, for which they would account to him on demand.

"Pray, have you an account at Hankey's, Mr. Freshfield?"

asked the magistrate.

Mr. Freshfield replied, "Who, I?

not a bit of it.

I'm from the country, you know.

D--n town!

--Had enough of it almost.

Diddled in this manner!

--it's a _sick'ner_.

Got it again though--only want to know how that fellow, the long one there, came by it.

Put the _blunt_ at Hankey's, to be safe--'cause wouldn't be done, and then lost the cheque!

--that's a rum go--isn't it, your worship?"

The magistrate asked the prisoner how he came by it.

He said he lodged at _Mister_ Burn's, the _fighting man's_, in Windmill-street, and two gentlemen there, whom he did not know, gave him the cheque to get cashed.

His worship directed an officer to go to Burn's house and inquire about it.

In about half an hour he returned with _Mister_ Burn in company.

"Burn, do you know anything of this business?"

asked the magistrate.

--"Who was it gave this paper to the man at the bar?"

"Who gave it to him, your worship?"

said Mister Burn, "Why, I did."

"You did!

--and pray how did you come by it?"

--"Why, I won it, your worship--won it by _shaking in the hat_;" replied Mister Burn, squeezing the sides of his hat together, and giving it a hearty shake to show his worship the trick of it.

The magistrate looked at Mr. Freshfield; Mr. Freshfield looked at Mister Burn; Mister Burn looked boldly round at everybody as if nothing was the matter, and at last, Mr. Freshfield ejaculated--"Well, that's a rum go, however!

D--n me, never thought of that, you know.

Don't believe it, though.

Coming it strong, eh!

Burn?

May be, though--won't be sure."

After soliloquising some time in this style, he began a long history of his having gone from Spring's to Burn's, and Burn's to Spring's, and betting upon the "match for Monday;" and taking the long odds at one place and giving them at another, till the magistrate and everybody else was quite weary of it.

So his worship discharged the prisoner; recommended _Mister_ Burn not to addict himself to "shaking in the hat," directed the city officer to return Mr. Freshfield his 300_l.

_ "cheque," and advised Mr. Freshfield to put it into his pocket, and return to his native woods as soon as possible.