Gossip in the First Decade of Victoria's Reign

“I know George Dockeray, the trainer. I never said to him, ‘Damn it, this colt has been broken before; here is the mark of the pad on his back.’ I showed him the mark, but I never said those words, or any words to that effect. I don’t know why I showed him the mark. It was not big enough for the mark of a pad, and it was not the place for the saddle to make it. I told Lord George Bentinck the same. The mark of the pad never wears out. I recollect being asked, in the presence of Mr. Smith, what I had there? and I recollect answering, a four-year-old. I have not the slightest doubt of it. Mr. Smith struck me for it. I did not say, afterwards, that I had forgotten all about the horsewhipping, and that the marks of the pad had worn out. I never said, either, that somebody had behaved very well to me.”

At an early period of the examination of witnesses, Mr. Baron Alderson expressed a wish that he and the jury should see the horse; and Mr. Cockburn said he had no objection. On the cross-examination of William Smith, a training groom residing at Epsom, it came out that the horse had been smuggled out of the way, that it might not be seen by the defendant’s agents. The judge, animadverting on this, and on the evident perjury of the witness, said it would be better that the horse should be seen by him and other parties. The Solicitor-General, who appeared for the defendant, was anxious that the horse should be seen by veterinary surgeons. To which the other side objected, maintaining that the mark of mouth, by which, alone, those surgeons could judge of the age of a horse, was a fallible criterion.

On the conclusion of the evidence for the plaintiff, the Solicitor-General, in addressing the jury for the defence, denounced the case as a gross and scandalous fraud on the part of the plaintiff. The case for the defendant was, that the horse was not Running Rein at all, but a colt by Gladiator, out of a dam belonging originally to Sir Charles Ibbotson; and that it had the name, Running Rein, imposed upon it, being originally called Maccabeus, and having been entered for certain stakes under that designation. But his allegations were against Goodman, not against Mr. Wood; the former had entered into a conspiracy with other persons to run horses above the proper age. The Gladiator colt had been entered for races, under the name of Maccabeus, before Goodman purchased him; and to run these races while the colt was in training for the Derby, for which he was entered as Running Rein, Goodman hired an Irish horse, which he disguised as Maccabeus, though a year older than that horse. The Gladiator colt, the soi-disant Running Rein, when he ran for the Derby, in 1844, was four years old, the race being for three-year-old horses. After hearing some evidence in support of these statements, the case was adjourned till the following day.

The next day, when Mr. Baron Alderson took his seat upon the Bench, a conversation ensued between Mr. Cockburn and the Judge, respecting the production of the horse. Mr. Cockburn asserted that it had been taken away without Mr. Wood’s knowledge, and thus it was out of his power to produce it; he felt it would be vain to strive against the effect which must be felt by the non-production of the horse, after the remarks of the learned Judge on that point. After some conversation, however, the case proceeded, and two witnesses for the defence were examined, whose evidence went to prove that Running Rein was, in fact, the Gladiator colt. Mr. George Odell, a horse dealer at Northampton, said he could swear to that fact; the colt had two marks on one leg.

Mr. Baron Alderson remarked: “Now, if we could see the horse, that would prove the case. Who keeps him away? It is quite childish to act in this manner.”

Mr. Cockburn now stated that Mr. Wood was convinced that he had been deceived, and gave up the case.

Mr. Baron Alderson then briefly addressed the jury with much warmth, and in a most emphatic manner; directing them to find a verdict for the defendant, observing:

“Since the opening of the case, a most atrocious fraud has proved to have been practised; and I have seen, with great regret, gentlemen associating themselves with persons much below themselves in station. If gentlemen would associate with gentlemen, and race with gentlemen, we should have no such practices. But, if gentlemen will condescend to race with blackguards, they must expect to be cheated.”

The jury found for the defendant, and the effect of their verdict was, that the Derby Stakes went to Orlando, and that Crenoline should be considered the winner of the Two-Year-Old Plate at Newmarket, run the previous year.

Punch, in commenting upon Mr. Baron Alderson’s remarks, says: “They” (the gentlemen) “go among these knaves and swindlers, these low-bred ruffians, reeking of gin and the stables, to make money of them. They associate with boors and grooms, Jew gambling-house keepers, boxers and bullies, for money’s sake to be sure. What other motive could bring such dandies into communication with such scoundrels, any more than he would willingly incur an infection, unless he had some end in view. And the noble patrons of the Turf have a great end in view – that of money.”

This ought to have been sufficient roguery, one would think, for one race, but it was not. A horse, named Rattan, was so evidently “nobbled,” that two men connected with it, Rogers and Braham, were warned off all the Jockey Club’s premises.

And yet another case. A horse, named Leander, ran in this race, and so injured its leg, that it was shot. Shortly afterwards, it was suspected that it was four, instead of three years old; and, on its being exhumed, the lower jaw was missing. The resurrectionists, however, cut off the head, and veterinary experts confirmed the previous suspicions. For this, the owners, Messrs. Lichtwald, were, for ever, disqualified from racing. This case occupied much time before the Select Committee of the House of Lords.

The Select Committee on Gaming, in the Commons, in 1844, report that: “Your Committee have some evidence to show that frauds are, occasionally, committed in Horse Racing, and in betting on the Turf; but they feel difficulty in suggesting any remedy for this evil, more stringent, or more likely to be effectual, than those already in existence.”

On June 1, two Royal visitors arrived here, the Emperor of Russia and the King of Saxony. They had to pay the usual penalty of hard labour for a week.

In the House of Commons, on 14 June, Mr. T. Duncombe presented a petition from W. J. Linton, Joseph Mazzini, and two others, complaining of their letters being opened before delivery, and praying that “The House would be pleased to grant, without delay, a Committee to inquire and give immediate redress to the petitioners, and prevent the recurrence of so unconstitutional and infamous a practice.” Sir James Graham (Home Secretary) replied that “the House must be aware that from as early a period as the reign of Queen Anne, power existed in the hands of the Principal Secretary of State, to detain and open letters passing through the Post Office; and the House would also be aware that this power had come under the review of Parliament, at so late a period as the year 1837, and by the Act of 1 Vic., this power of issuing warrants to open and detain letters, continued still vested in the Secretaries of State. He must, for fear of creating misapprehension by his answer, state that the circumstances mentioned in the petition were, to a great extent, untrue. As to three of the petitioners, he doubted if their letters had ever been detained, and no warrant as to them had been issued; but, as to one of the petitioners, he had to state, that, on his responsibility, a warrant had been issued as to the correspondence of that person, which warrant was no longer in force.”

On 2 July, a Committee of Secrecy was appointed “to inquire into the state of the Law in respect to the detaining and opening of Letters at the General Post Office, and into the mode under which the authority given for such detaining and opening has been exercised, and to report their opinion and observations thereupon to the House.” The Committee met, took evidence, and duly reported, when it being shewn that the privilege was not often exercised (the total number of warrants issued between 1799 and 1844 being only 372), and that, of late years, the average of warrants had decreased, the public were satisfied, and the subject dropped.

Chantrey’s equestrian statue of the Duke of Wellington, which stands in front of the Royal Exchange, was uncovered, amidst much cheering. It cost £9,000 besides the metal.

On 23 Sept. Barry, a clown at Astley’s, fulfilled his promise of sailing in a washing-tub drawn by geese, from Vauxhall to Westminster. He successfully accomplished his voyage, and repeated it on Oct. 11, from the Red House, Battersea (where now is Battersea Park), to Vauxhall.

On 8 Oct. Louis Philippe, the King of the French, landed at Portsmouth on a visit to the Queen. He was made a Knight of the Garter, and generally fêted, and should have returned to France, from Portsmouth on the 12th, but the sea was too rough, and he had to cross from Dover, instead; but even this trip was delayed by a great conflagration at New Cross Station, so that he really did not depart until the 13th.

I meet with the first mention of that eminent fertiliser, Guano, in a commercial point of view, in the Times of the 18 Oct., where it says that on 16th were put up for sale, at Liverpool, in lots of 10 tons each, 180 tons of the best African guano. But one lot of five tons was sold, and that fetched £5 12s. 6d. The next lot was not sold, in consequence of the price offered being under that, and the whole of the remaining lots were withdrawn, there being no probability of the reserved price being realised. It was then being fetched from Ichaboe, an island off the south-west coast of Africa – but it was afterwards procured in large quantities from the Chincha Islands, off the coast of Peru.

On 28 Oct. the Queen opened the New Royal Exchange, with great State, and the Lord Mayor (W. Magnay, Esq.) was made a baronet; the reading-room at Lloyd’s was made into a Throne room for the occasion, and a sumptuous déjeuner was served in the Underwriters’ room. It was a very imposing pageant and pretty sight; but, although the Exchange was formally opened, no merchants assembled within its quadrangle until the first of the following January.

Whilst on matters civic I must mention the very rare fact of Sir William Magnay’s successor in the office of Lord Mayor (Mr. Alderman Gibbs), being hooted and yelled at, on 9 Nov., whilst going to Westminster, and returning thence. He had been churchwarden of St. Stephen’s, Walbrook, and the popular mind was imbued with the idea that something was wrong with his accounts, so they virtuously insulted him. He had a hard enough time of it both by land and water, when going, what his returning was, is best told by a contemporary:

“The ceremony within the Court of Exchequer having terminated, similar uproarious shouts to those which had hailed the arrival of the new Lord Mayor, now marked his embarcation for the city; and, in his passage down the Thames, with but here and there a solitary exception, the civic barge was the target of repeated vollies of yells and groans, levelled by no unskilful, or ineffective voices at it, from the banks and bridges of the river. The landing at Blackfriars was attended with a more concentrated attack of ‘public execration,’ for, there, an immense multitude was wedged together, anxious to be spectators of the scene, though not inactive ones. On the procession passed amid the continued manifestations of public disapprobation of the present, and respect for the retiring Lord Mayor. Many interrogations of a searching nature were repeatedly bawled forth, not that they could reach the right honourable ear, but they were exercises in that peculiar art, styled ‘talking at folks.’ The same description must apply to Ludgate Hill, St. Paul’s Churchyard, and Cheapside, in which place some merriment was created by a party chanting in appropriate style:

‘Oh, Alderman Gibbs,Pray dub up the dibbs!’

“It was somewhat after 4 o’clock, when the cortège arrived at the bottom of King Street, where, immediately before Guildhall Yard, about 2,000 persons had collected, and others pressing out of the several streets, caused a dense mass to be formed. This was the place where a parting salutation was to be presented to the new Lord Mayor, by his pitiless persecutors, and a very good view of the scene was attainable from an upper window at the western angle of Gresham Street. Hearty and continued cheering announced the progress of Sir William Magnay; but, as soon as the State coach with the new Lord Mayor arrived, the yells and groans which broke forth, were perfectly stunning. Never was the manner in which the two Lord Mayors had been received throughout the day, marked with stronger contrast. The accumulation of carriages in Guildhall Yard, caused the detention of the State coach for some minutes, during which a real tempest of execration was poured forth upon the unfortunate gentleman; and many persons did not hesitate to testify their dislike to him in a manner to be condemned, by spitting at the carriage, their distance from which, however, defeated their intention. In truth, Mr. Gibbs had to endure a perpetual and pitiless storm of hisses, yells, groans, gibes, sneers and jeers; and at every stoppage where the crowd was in close proximity to his carriage, unusually furious bursts of indignation broke forth; yet no missile was thrown during any portion of the day.”

CHAPTER XXIV

Murder by Tawell – Curious story – King William IV.’s Statue – Visits by the Queen – Testimonial to Rowland Hill – Breaking the Portland Vase – Sad end of William Austin – Sale of Van Amburgh’s stud – Hungerford Suspension bridge – Accident at Yarmouth – An Excise case – Beginning of the Railway Mania – Sailing of Sir J. Franklin.

This year begins badly – with a murder – which I should not chronicle, were it not that it was the first case in which the electric telegraph lent its services for the detection of a crime. A man named John Tawell, a member of the Society of Friends, and who occupied a decent position in life, poisoned a poor woman at Salt Hill. A Quaker who seemed much confused had been met close by her house, and he went by train from Slough to Paddington. Suspicion being aroused, a message was sent from Slough, giving a description of him, and asking that he should be shadowed on his arrival. This was done, and, next day, he was arrested. He was tried, found guilty, and duly executed. The case, at the time, created an immense sensation, mainly because the villain was a member of the Society of Friends. Apropos of this, the Observer of 23 March is responsible for the following:

“The Murderer Tawell. – The following strange statement has been made by a person, who is a Quaker, living near Berkhampstead, and who is acquainted with Tawell: About a year ago, the stillness and decorum of the Quakers’ meeting at Berkhampstead, at which Tawell attended, was disturbed by one of the male members, who suddenly rose from his seat and exclaimed, with frantic earnestness, that there was then present, a person who was, at that very moment, meditating a most fearful crime. His conviction was so strong, that he passionately besought this individual, whoever, he might be, to reflect upon the wickedness of his intention, and to implore his Maker’s pardon for his murderous thoughts. As may be imagined, the Friends were thrown into great consternation by this strange and impetuous appeal, and the meeting broke up in alarm and confusion. Tawell was present at the time.”

Early in January the statue of King William IV., by Samuel Nixon, was placed on its pedestal, fronting London Bridge; but, as far as I know, there was no public ceremony at its inauguration, for the Times of 1 Feb. says: “That workmen are now actively employed in cleansing down the colossal figure of King William IV., preparatory to the hoarding being removed, and the statue thrown open to the view of the public. The base will present a very novel and pleasing appearance, it being ornamented with numerous naval trophies. The four cross footpaths leading to the figure will be lighted by four gas lamps, on massive granite pillars. In a few days the whole work will be completed, when it will be inspected by Her Majesty, the Queen Dowager, and His Royal Highness Prince Albert, those illustrious personages having intimated their desire to view it when finished.”@

On 15 January the Queen paid a visit to the Duke of Buckingham, at Stowe, and the magnificence of her reception had much to do with the financial collapse of the too generous Duke. On leaving Stowe she went to Strathfieldsaye to stay with the Duke of Wellington. It was on this occasion that the old Duke gave a lesson to the gentlemen of the Press, which the interviewers of our times might well take to heart: “Field-Marshal the Duke of Wellington presents his compliments to Mr. – , and begs to say he does not see what his house at Strathfieldsaye has to do with the public press.”

On 21 Jan. a National Testimonial was presented to Rowland Hill for his labours in connection with the introduction of the Penny Post, and Mr. Larpent, the Chairman of the City of London Mercantile Committee on Postage, handed him a cheque for £10,000, which handsome sum had been raised by a public subscription, which was not confined to the mercantile community alone, persons of every rank, and of both sexes, contributing amounts varying from large sums to a few pence.

Just before the closing of the British Museum at 4 p.m. on 7 Feb., a crash was heard, and the famous Barberini, or Portland Vase, was found in pieces on the floor. A man, named Lloyd, in a fit of delirium produced by drink, had smashed it out of pure wantonness. The vase was valued at £1,000 by the Museum authorities, but, of course, that sum was purely nominal, as the vase was unique. It was deposited in the British Museum in the year 1810 by the Duke of Portland, and was considered as his property; hence the name of the “Portland Vase.” It was found about the middle of the 16th century, about two and a half miles from Rome, on the road leading from Frascati. At the time of its discovery it was enclosed in a marble sarcophagus, within a sepulchral chamber, under the mount called Monte di Grano. The material of which it is made is glass, the body being of a beautiful transparent dark blue, enriched with figures in relief, of opaque white glass. For more than two centuries it was the principal object of admiration in the Barberini Palace. It came into the possession of Sir William Hamilton, from whom it was purchased by the Duchess of Portland.

On 11 Feb. the delinquent was brought before Mr. Jardine, at Bow Street, and the Museum authorities electing to prosecute him for the minor offence of breaking the glass case which held the vase, and which was under the value of £5, he was convicted of that offence, and sentenced to pay £3, or two months’ hard labour in the House of Correction. He could not pay, and was committed to prison, in default, but on 13 Feb., someone paid the money, and the man was released.

An employé of the British Museum, named Doubleday, undertook, and effected, the restoration of the Vase, and it may now be seen in the Gold Room of the British Museum, but, alas! “all the King’s horses, and all the King’s men,” can never make it as it was. Wedgwood feebly reproduced it in ceramic ware, copies of which are now worth £200 each, and one copy, if not more, was made in silver.

I come across a curious paragraph in the Morning Post of March 13: “William Austin. – This person, whose name must be familiar to all who have had any acquaintance with the history of the Parliamentary proceedings in the case of the late Queen Caroline, or the eventful life of that unhappy Princess, arrived in London, last week, from Milan, where he has been residing for several years, for the most part, in a state of fatuity, the inmate of a lunatic asylum. We understand that he has been removed to this country through the intervention of the British Government, under an authority from the Lord Chancellor, in whose care, his person, and some considerable property, left to him by the late Queen, have been placed by certain proceedings on the part of his relations. He was conveyed hither from Milan under the charge of a medical and two other attendants; and immediately on his arrival, was visited by two London physicians, who, after an interview with him of some duration, at the hotel where he stopped, signed the necessary certificate for his detention in a private asylum, where he now remains. Austin is a very good-looking man, apparently about 40 years of age; and though, beyond doubt, mentally enfeebled, has no betrayal of such imbecility in the expression of his face. He has been in his present unfortunate condition since the year 1830; and, for a great part of that time, he has maintained an immovable taciturnity. No ingenuity has been able to extract a syllable from him. He answers no questions, nor asks any – enters into no conversation – and, even during the whole journey from Milan to London, he never spoke a word to his attendants, or any one else. Neither could the medical gentlemen who waited upon him here induce him to reply to any of their inquiries; and no doubt, this fact, of itself, formed no inconsiderable ingredient in the judgment at which they arrived. The unhappy man is extremely docile, has no disposition to violence, and readily understands and obeys any signs made to him.”

Van Amburgh’s stud, lions, etc., were sold at Manchester on 17 March, and fetched high prices; a fine black maned lion, £350; another, 6 years old, £310; two lion cubs, eight months old, male and female, sold, the one for £12 10/-, the other for £35. An elephant realised £750, and a giraffe £400.

Hungerford Suspension Bridge, the first of its kind over the Thames, was opened on 1 May, and, although a toll was demanded, it was calculated that, before dusk, some 25,000 persons had crossed from one side of the Thames to the other. It was taken down in July, 1862, to make room for the Charing Cross Railway Bridge. It was transferred to Clifton, and there opened, on 8 Dec., 1864, and it now spans the Avon.

On the next day (2 May) a terrible accident occurred at the Suspension bridge at Great Yarmouth. A clown was to emulate Barry’s folly, and cross the river in a washing-tub drawn by geese; and thousands of people assembled to see him, of whom a great number (accounts vary from 300 to 600), containing very many children, were on the bridge. Some of the suspension rods snapped, and the crowd fell into the water. Every assistance was rendered, but the number of recovered dead bodies, nearly all children, or young persons, was 77, and many are supposed to have been swept away by the current.

On the 2nd of May, the famous Excise trial at Bar, i. e., before twelve judges, the Attorney General v. Smith, came to an end, after lasting eight days. Mr. George Smith was a distiller, in a large way of business, at Whitechapel, and the premises of his brother James, who was a rectifier, adjoined his. The law forbids the junction of the businesses of distilling and rectifying, or any communication between premises carrying on such businesses; and, in this case, it was presumed that all spirit would be conveyed from one to the other by means of the highway. But the contention of the prosecution was, that the Excise officers, finding a great deficiency in the spirits ostensibly produced, as compared with the “wash,” had detected holes in a large receiver, and found, moreover, that they could themselves convey spirits from the distillery to the rectifying house, through pipes under ground, which were mixed up with those which supplied water, and so escaped detection. This the defendants denied, and brought forward evidence that the pipes were obsolete and disused. In the end, the verdict of the jury was, “We find for the Crown; but we are anxious to express our opinion that there has not been any evidence adduced before us which shows that the pipe has been fraudently used by the defendant.” The amount of damages claimed by the Crown was £150,000; but, by agreement, this was reduced to £76,000; and, finally, after an appeal from Mr. Smith, the Government were content with a cheque for £10,000.