what it was all about, when I told him that Jack Ketch was with us in the carriage. On this, several passengers became indignant, and declared they would not travel in the same carriage with a common hangman. I took Jack Ketch’s part, and told them that if there was no law there would be no living; and that, as murderers must be hung, somebody must do it. But they all left the carriage, and Jack Ketch quite took to me, because I stuck up for him, which pleased me exceedingly. I told him that I was sorry and ashamed to see a public servant treated in such a scurvy manner. After a while some of my pals—we acted the part of perfect strangers to each other—began to play at cards, winning and losing among themselves with varying fortunes. They asked me to join them, and I carelessly consented. Sometimes I won, sometimes I lost; at last I began to lose heavily, and Jack Ketch, in pity for my easy-going nature and out of gratitude for my sympathy with him, began to offer me his advice and assistance. I refused his counsel, and persisted in losing. Ketch got excited, began to bet, and we soon fleeced him heavily. Gradually the truth dawned upon him that we were a swell-mob party, when he became furious. In angry tones he told us what we were, and demanded the return of his money. With a sneer I answered: ‘Give back the blood and life you took this morning, and I will give you back your blood-money.’ At the next station I made my escape, and left the hangman in the lurch.”
The other story was about a bubble bet—a case of orthography.
“I was travelling in the guise of a Scotch peasant. I had the dress exactly, and, as I could imitate the brogue well, I was naturally an object of interest to the English. I got out of the train at the station upon which I had previously determined, and when the train had started, I began to whistle for my dog. The people about the station laughed at me, and I acted the peasant fool to perfection. I went into a public-house with a company of farmers and others, and was greatly distressed about the loss of my dog, Bob. I got hold of the gas-burner, and pulled at it. They asked me what I was doing, and I told them I was ringing the bell for my Bob. They all concluded—much to my satisfaction—that I was a fool. I then made use of a word which I purposely mispronounced. They asked me what it meant, and I told them. Then they asked me to spell it, which I did. Then they said my spelling was wrong, and I said it was not, for I had received a good education, and knew what I was about, at which the company laughed heartily. I got very angry, and began to show my bank-notes (flash ones, though), to let them see that I was sombody. They offered to bet upon the spelling of the word to a heavy amount, and I accepted the wager. They asked me who should decide which was right and which was wrong. I gave the name of the old dame that educated me far away in the Highlands, and wanted them to telegraph for her, but they would not do it, and so we agreed that the dictionary should decide. So the waiter brought in the dictionary, and according to it I was right. Then I had to plot my escape with the twenty pounds which I had won, as well as I could. They swore they would take the money from me, and would not let me go. So I pulled away at the gas-burner to ring the bell for my dog. I heard Bob outside, sluggishly went through the door to bring him in, and in doing so I gave my dupes leg-bail, and as I twisted through the back streets, I laughed heartily at my victims. The word was spelt in two ways, but I knew the way in which the word was spelt by the dictionary of that house, and the English fogies little knew that the innocent-looking waiter was a friend of mine, and in my pay. I quickly doffed my Highland costume and red whiskers, and transformed myself into a steady, sleek, and intelligent Englishman once more.”
One method of swindling employed by the magsmen is called mazing. A magsman goes to a large outfitter, says he is going abroad, and represents himself as an emigrant, or naval or military captain, as the case may be. The magsman gives a large and costly order, and leaves his hotel address. Captain Mag will occasionally send his servant for a considerable portion of the goods, but never for the whole. Should he succeed in getting them, neither the captain nor the servant is ever heard of by the tradesman again. Sometimes they arrange for the tradesman to deliver the goods at the hotel at a certain hour. Captain Mag goes to the bar and gives his name, that he may be called when asked for. The goods are delivered, and the gallant captain receives them himself. He treats the servant handsomely, and pays him with a snide bill or a forged note, and particularly requests that the remainder of the order may be completed by a given date, and gives a further order; to keep the messenger sweet, perhaps “tips” him with a sovereign or so. Then the messenger goes home, and the noble captain retreats to lay siege elsewhere. The remainder of the order is delivered at the hotel, but the captain has left, and, alas! they do not know his address.
A country emigrant goes to the seaport full of fear and trembling, and determined not to be done. Poor fellow! his very caution will lead him into the destruction which he so much dreads. I am sure the reader will pardon a long and tedious exposition of the roguery, as its object is to save his country cousins. In connection with all seaports there is a class of men called “dudders.” These formerly travelled the country as pedlars,[1] selling waistcoat pieces, sham jewellery, &c., to countrymen. In selling for thirty shillings or two pounds a waistcoat-piece which cost them perhaps five shillings, they would show great fear of the revenue officer, and beg of the purchasing clodhopper to kneel down in a puddle of water, crook his arm, and swear that it might never become straight if he told an exciseman, or even his own wife. These men, frequently dressed like sailors, are a branch of the magsman clan, and sell cigars or other goods. One trick of theirs is to have a few good cigars to show. Their victim is taken to a public-house and treated; there the cigars or goods are dexterously changed, and the flat comes away with an imaginary good bargain under his- ↑ Vide “Slang Dictionary.” J. Camden Hotten, London.
