The Reminiscences of Sir Henry Hawkins (Baron Brampton) Part 14

"Yes," answered the reverend gentleman; "perhaps it would have been better--"

"To have burnt the copy and given us the original, and more especially after the lady was dead. But, let me ask you, _why_ did you destroy the original will?"

I pressed him again and again, but he could not answer. The reason was plain. His ingenuity was exhausted, and so I gave him the finis.h.i.+ng stroke with this question,--

"Will you swear, sir, that an original will ever existed?"

The answer was, "No."

I knew it _must_ be the answer, because there could be no other that would not betray him.

"What is your explanation?" asked Cresswell.

"My explanation, my lord, is that the testatrix had often expressed to me her intention to leave me 5,000, and I wrote the codicil which was destroyed to carry out her wishes."

Cresswell had warned James early in the case as to the futility of calling witnesses after the two who alone were necessary, but to no purpose; he hurried his client to destruction, and I have never been able to understand his conduct. The most that can be said for him is that he did not suspect any danger, and took no trouble to avoid incurring it.

It is curious enough that on the morning of the trial we had tried to compromise the matter by offering 10,000.

The refusal of the offer shows how little they thought that any cross-examination could injure their cause.

Hannen said he could not have believed a cross-examination could be conducted in that manner without any knowledge of the facts, and paid me the compliment of saying it was worth at the least 80,000.

CHAPTER XV.

TATTERSALL'S--BARON MARTIN, HARRY HILL, AND THE OLD FOX IN THE YARD.

Tattersall's in my time was one of the pleasantest Sunday afternoon lounges in London. There was a spirit of freedom and social equality pervading the place which only belongs to a.s.semblies where sport is the princ.i.p.al object and pleasure of all. There was also the absence of irksome workaday drudgery; I think that was, after all, the main cause of its being so delightful a meeting-place to me.

There was, however, another attraction, and that was dear old Baron Martin, one of the most pleasant companions you could meet, no matter whether in the Court of Exchequer or the "old Ring." A keen sportsman he was, and a shrewd, common-sense lawyer--so great a lover of the Turf that it is told of him, and I know it to be true, that once in court a man was pointed out to him bowing with great reverence, and repeating it over and over again until he caught the Baron's attention. The Judge, with one pair of spectacles on his forehead and another on his eyes, immediately cried aloud to his marshal, "Custance, the jockey, as I'm alive!" and then the Baron bowed most politely to the man in the crowd, the most famous jockey of his day.

Speaking of Tattersall's reminds me of many things, amongst them of the way in which, happily, I came to the resolution never to bet on a horse-race. It was here I learnt the lesson, at a place where generally people learn the opposite, and never forgot it. No sermon would ever have taught me so much as I learnt there.

Like my oldest and one of my dearest friends on the turf, Lord Falmouth, I never made a bet after the time I speak of. No one who lives in the world needs any description of the Tattersall's of to-day. But the Tattersall's of my earlier days was not exactly the same thing, although the differences would not be recognizable to persons who have not over-keen recollections.

The inst.i.tution has perhaps known more great men than Parliament itself--not so many bishops, perhaps, as the Church, but more statesmen than could get into the House of Lords; and all the biographies that have ever been written could not furnish more ill.u.s.trations of the ups and downs of life, especially the downs, nor of more ill.u.s.trious men. The names of all the great and mediocre people who visited the famous rendezvous would fill a respectable Court guide, and the money transactions that have taken place would pay off the National Debt. All this is a pleasant outcome of the national character.

Do not suppose that Judges, other than Baron Martin, never looked in, for they did, and so did learned and ill.u.s.trious Queen's Counsel and Serjeants-at-Law, authors, editors, actors, statesmen, and, to sum it up in brief, all the real men of the day of all professions and degrees of social position.

At first my visits were infrequent; afterwards I went more often, and then became a regular attendant. I loved the "old Ring," and yet could never explain why. I think it was the variety of human character that charmed me. I was doing very little at the Bar, and was, no doubt, desirous to make as many acquaintances as possible, and to see as much of the world as I could. It is a long way back in my career, but I go over the course with no regrets and with every feeling of delight.

Everything seems to have been enjoyable in those far-off days, although I was in a constant state of uncertainty with regard to my career. There were three princ.i.p.al places of pleasure at that time: one was Tattersall's, one Newmarket, and the Courts of Law a third.

There used to be, in the centre of the yard or court at Tattersall's, a significant representation of an old fox, and I often wondered whether it was set up as a warning, or merely by way of ornamentation, or as the symbol of sport. It might have been to tell you to be wary and on the alert. But whatever the original design of this statue to Reynard, the old fox read me a solemn lesson, and seemed to be always saying, "Take care, Harry; be on your guard. There are many prowlers everywhere."

But there was another monitor in constant attendance, who was deservedly respected by all who had the pleasure of his acquaintance--that is to say, by all who visited Tattersall's more than once. He was not in the least emblematic like the old fox, but a man of sound sense, with no poetry, of an extremely good nature, and full of anecdote. You might follow his advice, and it would be well with you; or you might follow your opinion in opposition to his and take your chance. His name was Hill--Harry Hill they familiarly called him--and although you might have many a grander acquaintance, you could never meet a truer friend.

He was an old and much-respected friend of the Baron, and that says a great deal for him; for if anybody in the world could understand a _man_, it was Baron Martin. Whether it was the Prime Minister or the unhappy thief in the dock, he knew all cla.s.ses and all degrees of criminality. He was not poetical with regard to landscapes, for if one were pointed out to him by some proprietor of a lordly estate, he would say, "Yes, a vera fine place indeed; and I would have the winning-post _there_!"

The old fox and Harry Hill! The two characters at Tattersall's in those days can never be forgotten, by those who knew them.

It may seem strange in these more enlightened days that at that time I was under the impression that no one could make a bet unless he had the means of paying if he lost. This statement will provoke a smile, but it is true. The consequence was that I was debarred from speculating where I thought I had a most excellent chance of winning, having been brought up to believe that the world was almost dest.i.tute of fraud--a strange and almost unaccountable idea which only time and experience proved to be erroneous. Judge of the vast unexplored field of discovery that lay before me! Harry Hill was better informed. He had lived longer, and had been brought in contact with the cleverest men of the age. He knew at a glance the adventurous fool who staked his last chance when the odds were a hundred to one, and also the man of honour who staked his life on his honesty--and sometimes _lost_!

There were "blacklegs" in those days who looked out for such honest gentlemen, and _won_--scoundrels who degrade sport, and trade successfully on the reputations of men of honour. You cannot cope with these; honesty cannot compete with fraud either in sport or trade.

It was a very brief Sunday sermon which Harry preached to me this afternoon, but it was an effective one, and out of the abundance of his good nature he gave me these well-remembered words of friendly warning,--

"Mr. Hawkins, I see you come here pretty regularly on Sunday afternoons; but I advise you not to speculate amongst us, for if you do we shall beat you. We know our business better than you do, and you'll get nothing out of us any more than we should get out of you if we were to dabble in your law, for you know _that_ business better than we do."

This disinterested advice I took to heart, and treated it as a warning. I thanked Mr. Hill, promised to take advantage of his kindness, and kept my word during the whole time that Tattersall's remained in the old locality, which it did for a considerable period.

The establishment at this time was at Hyde Park Corner, and had been rented from Lord Grosvenor since 1766. It was used for the purpose of selling thoroughbreds and other horses of a first-rate order, until the expiration of the lease, which was, I think, in 1865. It was then removed to Knightsbridge, where I still continued my visits.

The new premises, or, as it might be called, the new inst.i.tution, was inaugurated with a grand dinner, chiefly attended by members of the sporting world, including Admiral Rous, George Payne, and many other well-known and popular patrons of our national sport. There were also a great many who were known as "swells," people who took a lively interest in racing affairs, and others who belonged to the literary and artistic world, and enjoyed the national sports as well. It was a large a.s.sembly, and if any persons can enjoy a good dinner and lively conversation, it is those who take an interest in sport. Mixed as the company might be, it was uniform in its object, which was to be happy as well as jolly.

That I should have been asked to be present on this historic occasion was extremely gratifying, but I could find no reason for the honour conferred upon me, except that it 'might be because I had always endeavoured to make myself agreeable--a faculty, if it be a faculty, most invaluable in all the relations and circ.u.mstances of life. I was flattered by the compliment, because in reality I was the guest of all the really great men of the day.

But a still more striking honour was in store. I was called upon to respond for somebody or something; I don't remember what it was to this day, nor had I the faintest notion what I ought to say. I was perfectly bewildered, and the first utterance caused a roar of laughter. I did not at that time know the reason. It is of no consequence whether you know what you are talking about in an after-dinner speech or not, for say what you may, hardly anybody listens, and if they do few will understand the drift of your observations. You get a great deal of applause when you stand up, and a great deal more when you sit down. I seemed to catch my audience quite accidentally by using a word tabooed at that time in sporting circles, because it represented the blacklegs of the racecourse, and was used as a nickname for rascaldom. "Gentlemen," I said, "I have been unexpectedly called upon my _legs_--" Then I stammered an apology for using the word in that company, and the laughter was unbounded.

Next morning all the sporting papers reported it as an excellent joke, although the last person who saw the joke was myself.

After dinner we adjourned to the new premises, which included a betting-room, since christened "place," by interpretation of a particular statute by myself and others. Oh the castigation I received from the Jockey Club on that account! Whether the monitory fox was anywhere within the precincts I do not know, but I missed him at that time, and attributed to his absence the lapse from virtue which undermined my previous resolution, and in a moment undid the merits of exemplary years. However, it brought me to myself, and was, after all, a "blessing in disguise"--and pleasant to think of.

We were in the betting-room, and there was Harry Hill, my genial old friend, who had advised me to take care, and never to bet, "because we know our business better than you do." Alas! amidst the hubbub and excitement, to say nothing of the joviality of everybody and the excellence of the champagne, I said in a brave tone,--

"Come now, Mr. Hill, I _must_ have a bet, on the opening of the new Tattersalls. I will give you evens for a fiver on ---- for the Derby!"

Alas! my friend, who _ought_ to have known better, forgot the good advice he had given me only a few years before, and I, heedless of consequences in my hilarity, repeated the offer of evens on the _favourite_.

"Done!" said two or three, and amongst them Hill. I might have repeated the offer and accepted the bet over and over again, so popular was it. "Done, done, done!" everywhere.

But Hill was the man for my money, and he had it. Before morning the _favourite was scratched_!

It was the race which Hermit won! Poor Hastings lost heavily and died soon after. I had backed the wrong horse, and have never ceased to wonder how I could have been so foolish. "Let me advise you not to speculate amongst us," were Hill's words, "for if you do we shall beat you;" and it cost me five pounds to learn that. A lawyer's opinion may be worth what is paid for it in a case stated; but of the soundness of of a horse's wind, or the thousand and one ailments to which that animal's flesh and blood are heir, I knew nothing--not so much as the little boy who runs and fetches in the stable, and who could give the ablest lawyer in Great Britain or Ireland odds on any particular favourite's "public form" and beat him.

Put not your trust in tipsters; they no more knew that Hermit had a chance for the Derby than they could foretell the snowstorm that was coming to enable him to win it.

This was the last bet I ever made; and I owe my abandonment of the practice to Harry Hill, who gave me excellent advice and enforced it by example.

CHAPTER XVI.

ARISING OUT OF THE "ORSINI AFFAIR."