“Why need two of us be hanged for this job? I’ll swear that you know nothing about it.”
When the two were brought up for trial, the sweep, while readily admitting his own guilt, asserted the tinker’s innocence with such vehemence that the judge and jury believed his tale. The tinker got twelve months in jail, but the sweep was hanged.
In his Romany Word-Book, Borrow mentions the transportation of Fighting Jack Cooper, “once the terror of all the Light Weights of the English Ring, who knocked West Country Dick to pieces, and killed Paddy O’Leary, the fighting pot-boy, Jack Randall’s pet.” Jack Cooper and his brother Tom were transported under peculiar circumstances. Tom was the first to be sent away. It appears that the brothers went to a ball where, in the course of the evening, Jack “pinched” a silver snuff-box, and without meaning any harm dropped it into his brother’s pocket. Presently the snuff-box was missed by its owner, and suspicion fell upon the Gypsies. A policeman was called in, and, while conversing with Tom, offered him a pinch of snuff. As the Gypsy removed a handkerchief from his pocket, out flew the snuff-box to his great astonishment, for he was unaware of the trick played by his brother. Speedily the handcuffs were slipped upon Tom’s wrists, and in due course he was brought to trial. Before the judge, Jack swore that Tom was innocent, as indeed he was, but he was nevertheless sentenced to transportation.
However, Jack’s fate was not long delayed. “Infatuated with love for his paramour,” (says Borrow), “he bore the blame of a crime which she had committed, and suffered transportation to save her.” On the expiration of his lengthy term, he preferred to stay in Australia, where he made money by teaching young gentlemen the pugilistic art.
There are more stories of this kind showing that innocent persons were at times sent across the water.
Well-known to the Gypsies of our Midland counties is the story of Absalom Boswell’s transportation. One night the Gypsy father and his two sons sat talking in their tent, and, in order to rest his weary feet, the old man removed his shoes and soon fell asleep on the straw. One of the lads donned his father’s footgear, and set off with his brother to latsher a bit of bokro-mas, which, being interpreted, means that they went to steal “mutton.” Their errand was successful, but morning light brought a policeman to the camp, for the sheep had been missed and suspicion had fallen upon the Gypsies. An early riser, Absalom had put on his shoes and was walking abroad. He and his two sons were arrested. There were no witnesses to the theft, but a footprint had been discovered on a patch of clay in the farmer’s field from which the sheep had been taken, and Absalom’s shoe fitted the footprint exactly. On this shred of circumstantial evidence the old man was transported for seven years, while his sons were lodged in jail for twelve months.
On Mitcham Common I once heard the following story from one of the Dightons. Seated on the wayside was a Gypsy making pegs, with his children playing around him, and, looking up from his work, he was surprised to see a well-dressed gawji (non-Gypsy) woman staring hard at him. She stood there without saying a word, until at last she moved slowly away. Then came a policeman to where the peg-maker sat—
“You must come along with me.”
“What for?”
“You’ll know when we get to the police station.”