The Reminiscences of Sir Henry Hawkins (Baron Brampton) Part 7

"Not a rag of evidence," said the attorney's clerk when he delivered the little brief--"not a shadder of evidence, Mr. 'Awkins. It's a walk-over, sir."

I knew that meant a nominal fee, but wondered how many more similes he was going to deliver instead of the money. But to the honour of the solicitor, I am bound to say that point was soon cleared up, and the practice of magistrates, supposed to be in their right minds, committing people for trial with no "shadder" of evidence against them, it now became my duty to inquire into. I asked how he knew there was no evidence, and whether the man bore a respectable character.

"Oh, I was up before the Baron," he answered. ("Yes," I thought, "but you must wake very early if you are up too soon for Baron Martin.") "And the Baron said, as to grantin' bail, 'Certainly he should; the magistrates had no business to commit him for trial, for there was not a rag of a case against the man.' So you see, sir, it's a easy case, Mr. 'Awkins; and as the man's a poor man, we can't mark much of a fee."

The usual complaint with quarter sessions solicitors.

Such were my instructions. I was young in practice at that time, and took a great deal more in--I mean in the way of credulity--than I did in after life. Nor was I very learned in the ways of solicitors'

clerks. I knew that hearsay evidence, even in the case of a Judge's observation, was inadmissible, and therefore what the Baron said could not strictly be given; but I did not know how far you might go in the country, nor what the Marquis's opinion might be of the Baron. I therefore mentioned it to Rodwell, who, of course, was instructed for the prosecution; he was in everything on one side or the other--never, I believe, on both.

This stickler for etiquette was absolutely shocked; he held up his hands, began a declamation on the rules of evidence, and uttered so many Pharisaical plat.i.tudes that I only escaped annihilation by a hair's-breadth. He was always furious on etiquette.

Much annoyed at his b.u.mptious manner, I was resolved now, come what would, to pay him off. I wanted to show him he was not everybody, even at Hertford Sessions. So when the case came on and the policeman was in the box, I rose to cross-examine him, which I did very quietly.

"Now, policeman, I am going to ask you a question; but pray don't answer it till you are told to do so, because my learned friend may object to it."

Rodwell sprang to his feet and objected at once.

"What is the question?" asked the Marquis. "We must hear what the question is before I can rule as to your objection, Mr. Rodwell."

This was a good one for Mr. Rodwell, and made him colour up to his eyebrows, especially as I looked at him and smiled.

"The question, my lord," said I, "is a very simple one: Did not Mr.

Baron Martin say, when applied to for bail, that there was not a rag of a case against the prisoner?"

"This is monstrous!" said the learned stickler for forms and ceremonies--"monstrous! Never heard of such a thing!"

It might have been monstrous, but it gave me an excellent grievance with the jury, even if the Marquis did not see his way to allow the question; and a grievance is worth something, if you have no defence.

The Marquis paid great attention to the case, especially after that observation of the Baron's. Although he regretted that it could not be got in as evidence, he was good enough to say I should get the benefit of it with the jury.

All this time there was a continuous growl from my learned friend of "Monstrous! monstrous!"--so much so that for days after that word kept ringing in my ears, as monotonously as a m.u.f.fin bell on a Sunday afternoon.

But I believe he was more irritated by my subsequent conduct, for I played round the question like one longing for forbidden fruit, and emphasized the objection of my learned friend now and again: all very wrong, I know now, but in the heyday of youthful ardour how many faults we commit!"

"Just tell me," I said to the policeman, "did the learned Judge--I mean Mr. Baron Martin--seem to know what he was about when he let this man out on bail?"

"O yes, sir," said the witness, "he knowed what he was about, right enough," stroking his chin.

"You may rely on that," said the Marquis. "You may take that for granted, Mr. Hawkins."

"I thought so, my lord; there is not a judge on the Bench who can see through a case quicker than the Baron."

The grumbling still continued.

"Now, then, don't answer this."

"You have already ruled, my lord," said Rodwell.

"This is another one," said I; "but if it's regular to keep objecting before the prisoner's counsel has a chance of putting his question, I sit down, my lord. I shall be allowed, probably, to address the jury--that is, if Mr. Rodwell does not object."

The n.o.ble Marquis, on seeing my distress, said,--

"Mr. Hawkins, the question needs no answer from the policeman; you will get the benefit of it for what it is worth. The jury will draw their own conclusions from Mr. Rodwell's objections."

As they did upon the whole case, for they acquitted, much to Mr.

Rodwell's annoyance.

"Now," said the Marquis, "let the officer stand back. I want to ask what the Baron really did say when he let this man out on bail."

"My lord," answered the witness, "his lords.h.i.+p said as how he looked upon the whole lot as a _gang of thieves_."

"You've got it now," said Rodwell.

"And so have you," said I. "You should not have objected, and then you would have got the answer he has just given."

CHAPTER VIII.

A DANGEROUS SITUATION--A FORGOTTEN PRISONER.

I had been to Paris in the summer of 18-- for a little holiday, and was returning in the evening after some races had taken place near that city. I had not attended them, and was, in fact, not aware that they were being held; but I soon discovered the fact from finding myself in the midst of the motley Crowds which always throng railway stations on such occasions, only on this particular day they were a little worse than usual. The race meeting had brought together the roughs of all nations, and especially from England. As it seemed to me, my fellow-countrymen always took the lead in this kind of compet.i.tion.

I was endeavouring to get to the booking-office amongst the rest of the crowd, and there was far more pus.h.i.+ng and struggling than was at all necessary for that purpose. Presently a burly ruffian, with a low East End face of the slum pattern and complexion, rolled out a volley of oaths at me. He asked where the ---- I was pus.h.i.+ng and what game I was up to, as though I were a professional pickpocket like himself.

He had the advantage of me in being surrounded by a gang of the most loathsome blackguards you could imagine, while I was without a friend.

I spoke, therefore, very civilly, and said the crowd was pus.h.i.+ng behind and forcing me forward. The brute was annoyed at my coolness, and irritated all the more.

Hitherto his language had not been strong enough to frighten me, so he improved its strength by some tremendous epithets, considerably above proof. I think he must have enjoyed the exclusive copyright, for I never knew his superlatives imitated. He finished the harangue by saying that he would knock my head off if I said another word.

To this I replied, with a look stronger than all his language, "No, you won't."

My look must have been strong, because the countenances of the bystanders were subdued.

"Why won't I, muster?" he asked.

"For two reasons," I said: "first, because you won't try; and secondly, because you could not if you did."

He was somewhat tamed, and then I lifted my hat, so that he could see my close-cropped hair, which was as short as his own, only not for the same reason. "You don't seem to know who I am," I added, hoping he would now take me for a member of the prize-ring. But my appearance did not frighten him. I had nothing but my short-cropped hair to rely on; so in self-defence I had to devise another stratagem. To frighten him one must look the ruffian in the face, or look the ruffian that he was. He continued to abuse me as we pa.s.sed on our way to the booking-office window, and I have no doubt he and his gang were determined to rob me. One thing was common between us--we had no regard for one another. I now a.s.sumed as bold a manner as I could and a rough East End accent. "Look-ee 'ere," said I: "I know you don't keer for me no more 'an I keers for you. I ain't afraid o' no man, and I'll tell you what it is: it's your ignorance of who I am that makes you bold. I know you ain't a bad un with the maulers. Let's have no more nonsense about it here. I'll fight you on Monday week, say, for a hundred a side in the b.u.t.ts, and we'll post the money at Peter Crawley's next Sat.u.r.day. What d'ye say to that?"

Peter Crawley, whom I have already mentioned as inviting me to breakfast, was like a thunderclap to him. I must be somebody if I knew Peter Crawley, and now he doubtless bethought him of my short hair.

I must confess if the fellow had taken me at my word I should have been in as great a funk as he was, but he did not. My challenge was declined.