The Reminiscences of Sir Henry Hawkins (Baron Brampton) Part 46

CHAPTER XLII.

A FULL MEMBER OF THE JOCKEY CLUB.

I knew a great many men connected with the Turf, from the highest to the humblest; but although I have spent the most agreeable hours amongst them, there is little which, if written, would afford amus.e.m.e.nt: everything in a story, a repartee, or a joke depends, like a jewel, on its setting. At Lord Falmouth's, my old and esteemed friend, I have spent many jovial and happy hours. He was one of the most amiable of hosts, and of a boundless hospitality; ran many distinguished horses, and won many big races. I used to drive with him to see his horses at exercise before breakfast, and in his company visited some of the most celebrated men of the day, who were also amongst the most distinguished of the Turf. Amongst these was Prince B----, whose fate was the saddest of all my reminiscences of the Turf.

I almost witnessed his death, for it took place nearly at the moment of my taking leave of him at the Jockey Club. There was a flight of stairs from where I stood with him, leading down to the luncheon-room, and there he appears to have slipped and fallen.

I don't know that it was in consequence of this accident, or whether it had anything to do with it, but I seemed after this sad event to have practically broken my connection with the Turf, and yet perhaps I was more intimately attached to it than ever, for Lord Rosebery asked me (I being an honorary member of the Jockey Club) whether there was any reason, so far as my judicial position was concerned, why I should not be elected a _full member_. I said there was none. So his lordship proposed me, and I was elected.

The only privilege I acquired by "full membership" was that I had to pay ten guineas a year subscription instead of nothing. I almost regularly had the honour of being invited, with other members of the club, to the entertainment given by H.R.H. the Prince of Wales on the Derby night--a festivity continued since his Majesty's accession to the throne. Nor shall I forget the several occasions on which I have had the honour to be the guest of his gracious Majesty at Sandringham; and I mention them here to record my respectful grat.i.tude for the kindness and hospitality of their Majesties the King and Queen whenever it has been my good fortune to be invited.

Speaking, however, of racing men, I have always thought that the pa.s.sion for gambling is one of the strongest propensities of our nature, and once the mind is given to it there is no restraint possible, either from law or pulpit. Its fascination never slackens, and time never blunts the keen desire of self-gratification which it engenders, while the grip with which it fastens upon us is as fast in old age as in youth. It will absorb all other pleasures and pastimes.

I will give an instance of what I mean. There was a well-known bookmaker of my acquaintance whose whole mind was devoted to this pa.s.sion; his lifetime was a gamble; everything seemed to be created to make a bet upon. Do what he would, go where he would, his thoughts were upon horse-racing.

I was staying with Charley Carew, the owner and occupier of Beddington Park, with a small party of guests invited for shooting. One morning there was to be a rabbit-killing expedition, and after a pretty good morning's walk, I had a rest, and then leisurely went along towards the trysting-place for lunch. It was a large oak tree, and as I came up there was Hodgman, the bookie, who did not see me, walking round the rabbits, which lay in rows, counting them, and muttering, "_Two--four--twenty_," and so on up to a hundred. He then paused, and after a while soliloquized, "Ah! fancy a hundred! One hundred _dead uns_! What would I give for such a lot for the Chester Cup!"

His mind was not with the rabbits except in connection with his betting-book on the Chester Cup. He was by no means singular except in the manner of showing his propensity. The devotees of "Bridge" are all Hodgmans in their way.

At the Benchers' table I was speaking of Clarkson in reference to the Old Bailey. He had been with me in consultation in a very bad case. We had not the ghost of a chance of winning it, and indicated our opinion to that effect to the unhappy client.

He turned from us with a sad look, as if desperation had seized him, and then, with tears in his eyes, asked Clarkson if he thought it advisable for him to _surrender_ and take his trial.

"My good man," said Clarkson, "it is my duty as a loyal subject to advise you to surrender and take your trial, _but, if I were in your shoes_, I'll be d.a.m.ned if I would!"

The man, however, for some reason or other, _did_ surrender like a good citizen, and the man who did not appear was his own leading counsel Clarkson. He never even looked in, and the conduct of the case, therefore, devolved on me. I did my best for him, however, and succeeded. The man was acquitted.

Not content with this piece of good fortune, for such indeed it was, he was ill-advised enough to bring an action for _malicious prosecution_. Lord Denman tried it, and told him it was a most impudent action, and he was astonished that he was not convicted.

During this conversation another, of no little importance, took place, and Lord Westbury is reported to have said,--

"I did not a.s.sert that the House of Lords had abolished h.e.l.l with costs, although I have no doubt that the large majority would gladly a.s.sent to any such decree--all, in fact, except the Bishops."

As I never listen to after-dinner theology, I forbear comment on this subject; but before this time there had been a curious action brought by a churchwarden against his vicar for refusing to administer the Sacrament to him, on the ground that he did not believe in the personality of the devil. After the decisions in the courts below, it was finally determined by the House of Lords that the vicar was wrong.

Hence it was that Westbury was reported to have said that the House of Lords had abolished h.e.l.l with costs. "What I did say," said Westbury, "was that the poor churchwarden who did not at one time believe in the personality of the devil returned to the true orthodox Christian faith when he received his attorney's bill."

Turning to me, his lordship said,--

"My dear Hawkins, you shall write your reminiscences, and, what is more, they shall be printed in good type, and, what is more, the first copy shall be directed to me."

And so it should be, if I only knew his address.

CHAPTER XLIII.

THE LITTLE MOUSE AND THE PRISONER.

I come now to a small event which occurred during my judgeship, and which I call my little mouse story.

I was presiding at the Old Bailey Sessions, and a case came before me of a prisoner who was undergoing a term of two years' imprisonment with hard labour for some offence against the Post Office.

The charge against him on the present occasion was attempting to murder or do grievous bodily harm to a prison warder. This officer was on duty in the prisoner's cell when the a.s.sault took place.

The facts relied on by the Crown were simple enough. The warder had gone into the cell to take the man's dinner, when suddenly the prisoner seized the knife brought for his use, and made a rush at the warder with it in his hand, at the same time uttering threats and imprecations.

Believing his life to be in danger, the warder ran to the door and got outside into the adjoining corridor, pulling the cell door to after him and closing it.

He had no sooner escaped than the prisoner struck a violent blow in the direction the warder had gone, but the door being closed, it fell harmlessly enough. It left such a mark, however, that no doubt could be entertained as to the violence with which it was delivered and the probable result had it reached the warder himself.

Thus presented, the case looked serious. Mr. Montagu Williams, who was counsel for the Crown, felt it to be, as it undoubtedly was, his duty in common fairness to present not only the bare facts necessary for his own case, but also those which might be relied upon by the prisoner as his defence, or at all events in mitigation of punishment.

In performing this duty, he elicited from his witness a very touching little history of the origin and cause of the crime. It was this:--

A poor little mouse had, somehow or other, managed to get inside the prisoner's cell; and one day, while the unhappy man was eating his prison fare, he saw the mouse running timidly along the floor. At last it came to a few crumbs of bread which the prisoner had purposely spread, and ran away with one of them into its hiding-place. The next day it came again, and found more crumbs; and so on from day to day, the prisoner relieving the irksomeness and the weary solitude of his confinement by tempting it to trust him, and become his one companion and friend, till at last it became so tame that it formed a little nest, and made its home in the sleeve of the prisoner's jail clothes.

During the long hours of the dreary day it was his companion and pet; played with him, fed with him, and mitigated his solitude. It even slept with him at night.

All this was, of course, against the prison rules. But the mouse had no reason to obey them.

One unhappy day a warder came into the cell, when the poor mouse peeped out from his tiny hiding-place, and the officer, I presume, as a matter of duty, seized the little intruder on the spot and captured it.

G.o.d help the world if every one did his strict duty in it! But--what to the prisoner seemed inexcusable barbarity--he killed the poor little mouse in the sight of the unhappy man whose friend and companion it had been.

This infuriated him to such an extent that, having the dinner-knife in his hand--the knife which would have a.s.sisted at the mouse's banquet as well as his own--he rushed at the warder, who fortunately escaped through the open door of the cell, the prisoner striking the knife into the door.

In the result the prisoner was indicted on the charge of attempting to murder the warder. The defence was that, as murder in the circ.u.mstances was impossible, _the attempt could not be established_, and on the authority of a case (which has, however, since been overruled) I felt bound to direct an acquittal; and I confess _I was not sorry_ to come to that conclusion, for it would have been a sad thing had the prisoner been convicted of an offence committed in a moment of such great and not unnatural excitement, and one for which penal servitude must have been awarded.

The poor fellow had suffered enough without additional punishment. I can conceive nothing more keen than the torture of returning to his cell to grieve for the little friend which could never come to him again.

CHAPTER XLIV.

THE LAST OF LORD CAMPBELL--WINE AND WATER--SIR THOMAS WILDE.

Life, alas! must have its sad stories as well as its mirthful. I have told few of the former, not because they have not been present to my mind, but because I think it useless to perpetuate them by narration.

But for its occasional gleams of humour, life would indeed be dull, and ever eclipsed by the shadow of sorrow.

One of the stories the Chief Baron told me is as indelibly fixed on my memory as it was on his. Lord Campbell had been so long and so prominently before the country that his death would be a theme of conversation in the world of literature, science, law, and fashion.

But it was not his death that impressed me; it was the incidents that immediately attended it.

"His lordship"--thus was the event related--"had been entertaining a party at dinner, and amongst them was his brother-in-law, Colonel Scarlett. In its incidents the dinner had been as lively and agreeable as those events in social and refined life usually are. Scarlett had an important engagement with Campbell in the city on the following Monday, this being Sat.u.r.day night. As he rose to go Scarlett wished his host good-night with a hearty shake-hands.

"'Good-night--good-night; we shall meet again on Monday.'"