Once a Week (magazine)/Series 1/Volume 8/Recollections of a retired butler
RECOLLECTIONS OF A RETIRED BUTLER.
In my capacity of butler to two of the first County Families in England some forty years ago, I have been a party to some very pleasant and interesting dinner conversations in the manner following. I always made it a rule to have a screen placed before my sideboard as soon as dessert was put upon the table; for in the times to which I allude it was the fashion to clear the cloth, and place the decanters, finger-glasses, d’oyleys, and wines (glasses) on the well-polished mahogany. By having my screen, I could arrange my relays of glasses and decanters, my tooth-picks, my snuff-box, and many other matters too numerous to mention, besides being always at my post to keep up the festivity of the evening, and preserve our family character for hospitality. As a matter of course I heard most of the conversation which took place, though I did not join in it; and as I always had a pretty good memory, I used to write down in the morning some of the good things I had heard over-night. Now, having retired from professional life, it is my custom of an evening, when I come up to town for my annual visit, to stay a month or two (as a boarder) with my eldest daughter and her husband, to spend my evenings at a highly respectable tavern, where there is a small parlour-company, and of which my son-in-law is a member. I have now and then told, for the amusement of the party, some of my anecdotes, and I am not ashamed to say that they have been received with great applause. One of our members (I say “our” although I am only an honorary) is clerk to a barrister in the Temple, and for a person in that line of life I consider him highly respectable and trustworthy. He is a very agreeable man indeed to talk with, and he tells me that my stories are not only capital in themselves, but are narrated by me in a manner which gives them an additional interest. He has at last persuaded me to put some of them on paper, and as there have been many changes in the mode of spelling since I went to Chelsea Free School, he has consented to modernise my language.
Before I begin my stories I wish you to understand that I do not pledge myself to furnish you with things of my own invention. They will be stories I have heard told at my master’s table, and may have been printed twenty times before, although I have never seen them. Whenever I copy from any book that Sir Thomas Z used to have brought in from the library, I shall honestly say so. Now to begin.
The other night the conversation at our tavern turned upon the present dreadful garrotting and highway robberies, and as I walked home, and afterwards when I was in bed, I could not help recalling some strange stories about highwaymen, and such like, which I had noted down on the spare leaves of one of my old “pantry-books,” so I employed the next day in transcribing two or three of them, and then gave them to my legal friend to send to you, Mr. Editor.
It was at a dinner for eight in November, 1819, that Sir Thomas asked Mr. S—th,[1] the family lawyer, whether his father had not been once stopped on Finchley Common under rather peculiar circumstances.
“Yes, Sir Thomas,” said Mr. S—th, “my grandfather was a land agent, employed by many persons of rank and quality. He had engagements in most parts of England, and it suited him better to travel in his own gig than in the dawdling, rumbling stage-coach of 1787. There were no country banks in those days, and consequently he at times carried large sums of money about him. It was not unusual at that time for young spendthrifts and gamesters occasionally to “take the road” to replenish their empty pockets, and more than one sprig of an old time-honoured trunk has been secretly lopped off and transferred to the plantations for having told a true man to stand and deliver. One night, my grandfather journeyed towards London across Finchley Common, then a wide, barren heath, with scarcely a dwelling near it, save a roadside inn, the ‘Bald-faced Stag.’
“There were a few aged hawthorn trees scattered about the common, occasionally affording shelter to the belated and storm-o’ertaken traveller. At a moment when the sky was at its cloudiest, two well-mounted men rode from the shadow of one of those thorns, and took their stations according to the approved mode of highwaymen, one man at my grandfather’s horse’s head, whilst the other curtly requested his watch and money. The clouds passed on, and the moonlight revealed the bright barrel of a pistol in close proximity to my grand-dad’s head. Again, all was darkness. Now my honoured forebear was not the man to be robbed without a struggle, and calculating upon such a contingency as the present he always carried a short bludgeon under the seat of his gig, being of opinion that a pistol might hang fire, or miss its mark, and then there would be an end of his power of resistance. Under pretence of complying with the request of the robber he stooped down for his trusty bludgeon, and as he did so, the clouds passed on, and the moonlight fell full upon his face.
“‘Mr. S—th!’ exclaimed the man with the pistol.
“‘Yes,’ replied my grandfather, coolly feeling for his weapon.
“‘Good night, sir,’ said the highwayman, and after whispering to his companion, both men rode off at a canter, leaving my grand-dad agreeably relieved and considerably astonished. Yes, astonished, for he had recognised the voice as that of a gentleman with whom he had been on terms of the closest intimacy. As he passed the ‘Bald-faced Stag,’ two men well mounted were drinking at the door, the moon shining full upon them. They raised their hats as my grandfather drove past, he returned their salute, and to his dying day never mentioned their names even to my grandmother, although she had asked him in season and out of season. His only answer was:
“‘They were gentlemen, and behaved to me like gentlemen, I therefore desire to return the compliment.’”
“Ah!” said Mr. N—r—th, “some of those knights of the road were civil enough at times; but, generally speaking, they were great blackguards, cowards, and brutes.”
“Quite right,” said Sir Thomas, “and I have in my mother’s scrap-book, certain cuttings which may interest you.”
The book was brought in, and Sir Thomas read as follows:
“Here’s an account of two robberies more than a hundred years ago.
ON Tuesday night [Jan. 5, 1720,] two Highwaymen robb’d two Gentlemens Coaches over against the Duke of Devonshire’s House in Piccadilly; and on Thursday three Foot Pads stopp’d a Chair much about the same Place, and having mastered the two Chairmen, they plunder’d the Gentleman who was in it of his Money, Watch, and Sword.
“Courage seems to have been all on the side of the highwaymen, although it was nothing unusual, I believe, for the chairmen, and even gentlemen’s servants to be in league with the robbers.”
I thought this remark very unjust to the body to which I belonged, and was disposed to address Sir Thomas from my screen; but, upon reflection, I concluded it was better to hold my tongue. I was glad I did so, for Sir Thomas said:
“Here’s another account of the same date,
LAST Week [Feb. 1720,] a Butler belonging to his Royal Highness the Prince, was robb’d by two Highwaymen near Hide Park Corner; who after they had took his Money were preparing to strip him, and had taken off his Cravat; but Company coming up, they fled for it, and made their Escape.
So, I considered butlers were exonerated from Sir Thomas’s injurious observations.
“The rogues had little fear of the watch it seems, by what follows:
ON Wednesday Night last [Aug. 10, 1720,] the Right Honourable the Earl of Westmoreland and his Lady were attack’d in their Coach by three Highwaymen, in Broad St. Giles’s, who robb’d them of 9 or 10 Guineas, and other things of Value.
“The next extract is rather nearer our own time.
ON Wednesday evening, [January 17, 1759,] between the hours of five and six, Sir Richard Chase, Knt. coming to town from his seat at Hadham in Hertfordshire, was robbed between Mother Redcap’s and Fig-lane, near Tottenham Court turnpike, of three guineas and a half (he had left his Watch, &c. at home) and a Gentleman of Wales that was with him of some silver, by a lusty man, dressed in a blue great coat, ruffles at his hands, supposed to have a cockade in his hat, and who rode a strong bay horse.
“Sir Richard Chase, and his friend from Wales, seem to have been prudent fellows, and to have known the feebleness of their own courage,” said Sir Thomas, laughing. “I think I should have made some fight for my money, or said nothing about the adventure.”
All the gentlemen agreed in Sir Thomas’s opinion, and I have no doubt Sir Richard Chase would have done the same, had he been sitting there in a bright warm room, with a jug or more of very fine claret within him.
“My uncle Zachary,” said Mr. N—r—th, “used to tell an adventure which occurred to him. He was very fond of racing, and was known to bet considerable sums, and to carry his money with him. On his way to Doncaster with a friend, he stopped at an inn where he was known, and invariably slept on his way down, and was annoyed to find that all the other decent rooms were occupied by persons who, like himself, were on their way to the races. So there was nothing to be done, but to yield up his own comfortable quarters to his friend, and content himself as best he could in a garret. My uncle’s friend was a mild, nervous man, who would have as soon thought of visiting Doncaster races, without the protection of my uncle, as descending the crater of Vesuvius. Before he retired to rest, it was his custom to look under his bed, and in any cupboard that might be in the room. He went through this examination on the night of my story, and all being perfectly satisfactory, my uncle’s friend raked the coals well together in the grate, extinguished his candle, and by the light of the fire got into bed. Many persons cannot sleep in a strange bed, and my uncle’s friend was one, so he lay awake for some time, looking at an eight-day clock in one corner of his room. The hands of the clock, he had noticed, stood at half-past eight, and it was then eleven; so, as the clock had stopped, my uncle’s friend thought that he should experience no disturbance from that quarter. He was mistaken, however, for he saw by the firelight, which played upon the polished surface of the clock-case, the door communicating with the weights and pendulum silently opened, and then a villanous face peered out, the eyes glaring at my uncle’s friend; whose breath, for a moment or two, came thick and fast, to be followed by a profuse perspiration. The danger, however, was too near to admit of much deliberation; my uncle’s friend jumped out of bed, rushed to the clock, and secured his enemy within, bawling at the same time:
“‘Zachary—Zachary N—r—th! Murder! Thieves! Zachary N—r—th’
“The imprisoned rogue made desperate efforts to free himself, and the clock-case rocked about fearfully, but the situation was in favour of virtue for once, and vice met with its deserts. Assistance soon arrived, and from the interior of the clock-case (from which the weights and pendulum had been removed), a well-known diminutive Doncaster tout was dragged to light, the man afterwards confessing that he knew my Uncle Zachary always slept in this particular room at race-time, and that he was sure to carry a large sum of money with him. The incensed host and his household consigned the miserable little culprit to the horse-trough for nearly a quarter of an hour, and then left him to dry in the village cage. And that was the end of the story.”
“By-the-bye,” said Sir Thomas, “if I remember rightly, Zachary was once suspected of being a thief himself, was he not?”
“O, I remember,” replied Mr. N—r—th. “He was a free-and-easy man, and soon at home wherever he found himself. Arriving at a country inn, where he had been before, and made himself very agreeable to host and hostess, he entered, expecting to find a pleasant welcome, and so he held out his hand to the buxom lady of the house, and was surprised to find his proffered courtesy coldly received. Nothing abashed, however, he walked towards the kitchen, saying:
“‘Haha! I thought my nose did not deceive me. Ducks! Capital—very fond of ducks, and one of those brown beauties shall be my dinner.’
“‘I fancy you’ll find yourself mistaken, sir,’ said the hostess, whisking about the kitchen; ‘and, if you please, the parlour is in the front of the house, and we want the kitchen to ourselves just at present.’
“‘Hey-day,’ said my uncle, “what is the matter, hostess? Don’t you remember me?’
“‘O, yes! I remember you well enough—not likely to forget such a customer as you are,’ replied the hostess.
“My uncle stared at this rejoinder, and his wonder was not diminished when he saw the landlord in the garden beckoning him to come.
“My uncle went at once.
“‘Well, landlord, what’s this mystery?’
“‘Really, sir,’ said the host, ‘I hardly like to tell you, because I am sure there must be some mistake. I have told my missus so over and over again, but she is an obstinate woman, and I must own the case looks very black against you.’
“‘Against me?’ asked my uncle. ‘What looks black? Come, speak out, man.’
“‘Well, perhaps that’s best,’ said the host. ‘So, to be plain, the last time you slept here we missed the sheets from your bed after you were gone, and my missus believes that you stole them.’
“Uncle Zachary thought for a moment, and then broke into a hearty laugh. The host, regarding him for a little while, laughed too, and said:
“‘I knew there was a joke somewhere, and that you wasn’t a thief! I said you didn’t look one, and that it wasn’t feasible, after paying your bill, as freely as you did, like a gentleman.’
“‘I’m much obliged to you for your good opinion,’ replied my uncle, ‘and we’ll drink to our continued friendship in a bottle of your best—after our dinner off those ducks, let the old lady say what she will. Now show me to the room where I slept on my last visit, bring your wife with you, and I will make confession.’
“The party soon assembled in the bed-room, and my uncle, sitting at the foot of the bed, said:
“‘Landlady, did you ever have the rheumatism? Yes? Then you know what pain it is and what brings it on. I caught mine from sleeping in a damp bed, and, since that time I always take care to examine the sheets, and so I did yours. To my surprise I found they were positively damp.’
“‘That lazy Susan!’ exclaimed the host, ‘she’s left us now.’
“‘So much the better,’ continued my uncle. ‘As a punishment for your neglect, I put the sheets up the chimney, and I have no doubt if you look there you will find them.’
“It proved to be as my uncle said, there the sheets were, and the hostess confessed she had learned a lesson she should not forget.
“Uncle Zachary dined off the ducks.”
Now, Mr. Editor, the next story I heard with my own ears; it was told by a gentleman who knew the parties, and who was related to one of them. I believe part of what I am about to say has been in print, but not the entire story as I am about to tell it, and as I heard it behind my screen.
In one of the northern counties lived, about fifty years from this time, a roaring set of farmers, corn dealers, and wool buyers, and the worst of the set was a man we will call Robinson. There was no mischief that Robinson had not indulged in, and so had his father before him. They bought wool and corn, and farmed a few acres, employing some five or six men; one of whom, Job Cox, was as bad as his masters, and a great favourite with them. Robinson had a pony that for speed and endurance was unequalled in England, and he had frequently made the journey to London (over 120 miles) in two days, without distressing the gallant little animal or himself. Robinson was lightly built, but powerful, as some of those sinewy men are, and his strength was backed by courage. There is a terrible story told of him and some of his companions, almost too terrible to recal, but it may have its use in showing to what depths unrestrained vice can descend. Robinson and a friend had wagered a considerable sum on a game of whist at which they were engaged, and during the progress of the play, Robinson’s partner was taken seriously ill, and died in the course of a few days. On the day appointed for the man’s funeral, the clergyman was found to be absent, and consequently the corse was left upon tressels in the aisle of the church. During the evening of the same day, Robinson and his companions had met, and over their drink the dead man and the game of whist became the subjects of conversation, and ultimately of dispute, as the opponents of Robinson claimed payment of the wager, although at the time of playing the score was largely in favour of the others. Robinson refused to pay, and declared with fearful oaths, that he was willing to play out the game in the church and with the dead man for his partner. As the men continued to drink, this dreadful proposal was again urged, until the reprobates proceeded to put it into execution. And there, around that table, so often covered with the most sacred of emblems, were placed three living things and one dead man deciding their wager, Robinson taking “dummy!”
What follows will not appear surprising with so desperate a man. Robinson had made a visit to London to execute a long conceived project to enrich himself at the expense of one of the gambling houses. The banker usually had a large sum in notes and gold before him, in wooden bowls. Over the table were lamps (gas was not then in use), covered by a large green shade which concentrated the light upon the table, leaving the rest of the room in comparative gloom. On the occasion of Robinson’s visit, he was accompanied by two associates, who at a preconcerted signal dashed out the lamps, whilst Robinson seized the bank and instantly fled. At the corner of the street his gallant pony was in waiting, and as his pursuers reached the street, Robinson was mounted and away. It was about two o’clock in the morning when this daring robbery was committed, 120 miles away from Robinson’s house, and as the clock struck six in the evening Robinson rode into his homestead, where his father and Job Cox were anxiously expecting him.
“I have done the trick,” he said, “but not so cleverly as I intended. The hell-keepers saw me and have followed, no doubt. The only thing, however, they could swear to, would be the pony.”
“Then kill her,” said Job Cox.
“There will not be time to bury her,” said Robinson.
“Yes there will,” said his father.
Close at hand was a wheat-stack in the course of erection, a loaded waggon stood ready for the morning’s work, and all jumped at once to the old man’s meaning. The gallant beast was raised by some means on to the embryo stack, then destroyed and hidden beneath the contents of the laden waggon. Robinson himself made his way to the Fens, and soon after midnight, the clatter of horses’ feet was heard in the farmyard, and constables sniffed and quested about; but they never hit upon the right scent until long after old Robinson, his son, and Job Cox had left the country.
- ↑ I shall never in any case give the real name of any person in full, as I consider personalities are beneath an upper servant.