18 Sporting Sketches in Pen and Pencil. 



Two hours' snooze on the couch brought the knock at the shutters, and 

 in ten minutes after we had shaken ourselves together, filled and Kghted 

 our pipes, and were stalking away for Battersea Bridge. 



A lonely spot at that time, too, was that venerable shaky old structure, 

 which drowned more men than all the other bridges on the Thames put 

 together. Never a Satiu'day, Sunday, or holiday, but some poor creature 

 came to grief under those wretched cross set piles of the middle arches; 

 and once overboard there, with such a stream, your chance was small. I 

 myself, though a pretty good sculler, nearly came to grief under it once or 

 twice. Lonely and weird enough it looked now in the shadowy shifting 

 Hght as the clouds crossed the moon. 



"Hereabouts, I suppose it was that poor beggar was murdered and 

 chucked over," I said, as we stopped and peered over into the rapidly eddying 



" Like enough," said my companion. " That's one of the mysteries of 

 the Thames, and there have been many a thousand of them that have never 

 been unravelled, and never will be." 



The incident referred to had happened some months before. A young 

 fellow, apparently flush of cash, had been about the neighbourhood dissi- 

 pating, drinking, and skylarking at various places of resort, with a roughish, 

 ill-looking companion. One evening they left the Old Swan together to go to 

 Battersea, and neither of them were ever seen by us in life again. Some days 

 after the body of the young man turned up down the river. On liis temple 

 was a big bruise, the knuckles of his hands had been smashed with some 

 heavy weapon, and his pockets were empty. It was known that he had a 

 considerable sum about him in notes and gold, besides a gold watch and 

 other valuables. No doubt he had been felled senseless on the middle of the 

 bridge by his companion and then rifled, and when his murderer sought to 

 heave him over the rail into the river he had recovered consciousness and 

 clasped the rails and hung on, when his hands were battered to make him let 

 go. That was the theory advanced, and no doubt it was correct enough. 

 Cries were heard on the bridge, but no one regarded them ; the night was 

 dark and windy, and it might only be some drunken folk. So the murderer 

 got clear off with his booty, and never was heard of after. And we may 



