344 



The Poacher. 



to us, and somehow or other none of us who had no game to 

 preserve seemed to think that poaching was a very grave offence. 

 It is true they did the farmers in our village but little service, for 

 just before the hay harvest they all used to migrate into distant 

 counties where labourers were scarcer than with us, and wages 

 higher, and they did not return till the bean harvest was over. 

 During the winter it was very rarely that any one of them did a 

 steady day's work : they were always ready for any little odd job 

 which turned up, but could never settle down to regular work, and 

 their whole days appeared to be spent lounging about the beershop 

 and the blacksmith's forge (the usual winter resort of all the 

 vagabonds in the parish), and three nights out of the seven most 

 probably in the woods, so it was scarcely likely they would be much 

 fit for work by day. Of course we had in the village one of the 

 greatest curses of that day, a higgler, and his cart carried away all 

 the poached game and stolen poultry to a distant market, generally 

 to the guards of the London coaches on the North road, who were 

 always ready purchasers. I am not at all for granting too much 

 licence to a police force, but I must say I think that it was an 

 excellent measure, and one which gave the greatest death-blow to 

 poaching, when the law allowed the police the power to apprehend 

 and search any suspected person or vehicle and seize any game 

 which was found upon them. At this time the police had no such 

 power, in fact, our only protectors in the country were the old 

 parish constables, and they were about as much use as the old 

 London " Charlies." 



Of course there was a leader to our gang, and he was a man in 

 every respect fitted for the post. He was the son of the old higgler 

 before alluded to, and a more ruffianly-looking fellow it would have 

 been hard to find. His name was Hammerton Bill Hammerton, 

 and he was known among his associates, in fact nearly all over the 

 county, by the nickname of " Sloppy." He was at this time a 

 little over thirty years of age, a stout, thickset fellow, standing 

 about 5 feet 9 inches, and weighing 13 stone. A more desperate 

 character did not exist, and, unless rumour grossly lied, far darker 



