These matters having been duly set forth in evidence before the magistrates, they called upon the conquered constable-quelled Corinthians for their defence. Whereupon Mr. Christopher Clutterbuck, with many propitiatory deviations from the perpendicular, delivered himself thus:—
"Your worships—that is to say, your worships, I—hem! I beg pardon, your worships, but I don't know. It is extremely awkward—all I can say is—that is, all I have to offer is, that I—belong to—to his Majesty's service, hem! But unfortunately—unfortunately, your worships, have not been in the habit of being much in town, and—the fact is, your worships, I really don't know exactly; but this gentleman (Mr. Dionysius Dobbs) is my friend—my particular friend, and a gentleman, as you perceive—that is, he is a gentleman, I assure you. I suppose your worships, we were not in our regular senses—certainly we could not be—we were not so sober as we might have been at sometimes, I suppose; but the fact is, no doubt, I imagine, we must make amends for any damage we have done, certainly."
Mr. Dionysius Dobbs said nothing. Once or twice he essayed to speak, but what he had to say stuck in his throat. So he gasped piteously; and looked unutterable things, with an aspect so droopingly lack-a-daisical, that the very officers seemed sorry for him.
Their worships, however, commented severely upon their misdeeds, and ordered that they should put in good and sufficient bail for their appearance at the Quarter Sessions, there to answer to five distinct indictments for assault. Mr. Christopher Clutterbuck in 100l., with two sureties in 50l. each; and Mr. Dionysius Dobbs in 80l., with two sureties in 40l. each.
They had no bail ready, and were locked up all day, among other unfortunates, in the iron room. In the evening they gave the required bail; and, meanwhile, the Grand Jury returned five true bills against them. But they were never brought to trial; for, before the next Sessions, they found means to make their peace with the injured officers, at an expense of some forty or fifty pounds. And this is worshipful Corinthianism.
A DEBT OF HONOUR.
This was a proceeding, by warrant, for an assault and battery, arising out of the non-settlement of a debt of honour.
Mr. Elias Simmons, the complainant, is of the children of Israel; a fat, round man, of a pleasant countenance, and addicted to luxuriating in brown stout and a pipe, in the little back parlour at the Cannon Tavern—a comfortable public-house, somewhere in Knightsbridge. The defendant, Mr. Jacques Breton, is a native of Switzerland; tall, gaunt, and elderly, with a nice sense of honour, "sudden and quick in quarrel," and, withal, in the practice of sometimes taking a half-gill of old sherry in a goblet of pure spring water, at the Cannon Tavern aforesaid. He appeared before the magistrate with a large black silk handkerchief bound round his head, so as to cover one of his eyes.
On the day named in the warrant, it being between four and five o'clock in the afternoon, Mr. Elias Simmons was in the little back parlour at the tavern aforesaid, luxuriating as aforesaid, and several other gentlemen, then and there assembled, were luxuriating in like manner, when the door opened, and in stalked Mr. Jacques Breton; who, having seated himself, rang the bell and ordered his sherry and water as usual. Now it so happened that Mr. Jacques Breton was indebted to Mr. Elias Simmons in the sum of two shillings and sixpence; and, moreover, the said debt had been standing almost time immemorial, so that Mr. Elias Simmons was weary of waiting for it; and, as it was a "debt of honour," he began to entertain doubts that Mr. Jacques Breton meant to avail himself of that circumstance, and forget to pay it. He did not presume to say that such was the case, but he entertained that opinion; and the moment he saw Mr. Jacques Breton enter the room, he determined in his own mind to put it to the proof. Howbeit, knowing Mr. Jacques Breton's constitutional irascibility, and unwilling to wound his feelings before the English gentlemen present, he addressed him in French, viz., "Monsieur—voulez-vous—donner moi—mon leetel demiécu, monsieur?" To which civil interrogation—put with all the good humour in the world—Mr. Jacques Breton instantly replied, "Ahah! sacré! vat? you want to 'front me!"—and seizing a heavy cue from a bagatelle board on the table, he grasped it in both hands, and, before the company could interfere, he gave Mr. Elias Simmons a "thundering thwack" on the bare head, which shivered his tobacco-pipe into a thousand pieces, and laid him prostrate among the spittoons!