Famous Imposters 27

Famous Imposters 27

VIII. HOAXES, ETC.

 

 

There is a class of imposture which must be kept apart from others

of its kind, or at least ear-marked in such wise that there can be

no confusion of ideas regarding it. This includes all sorts of acts

which, though often attended with something of the same result as other

efforts to mislead, are yet distinguished from them by intention. They

have--whatever may be their results--a jocular and humorous intention.

Such performances are called hoaxes. These, though amusing to their

perpetrators and to certain sportive persons, and though generally

causing a due amount of pain and loss to those on whom they are

inflicted, usually escape the condign and swift punishment which they

deserve. It is generally held that humour, like charity, covereth a

multitude of sins. So be it. We are all grateful for a laugh no matter

who may suffer.

 

 

A. TWO LONDON HOAXES

 

Not many years ago, in one of the popular dairy-refreshment shops in

Holborn, the prim manageress and her white-capped waitresses were just

commencing their day’s work when a couple of sturdy green-aproned men

swooped down on the place from a large pantechnicon van, and to the

amazement of the young ladies commenced to clear the shop.

 

“There you are Bill. Hand up them chairs, and look slippy.”

 

“Right o’, mate.”

 

“Good gracious me, what are you men doing?” shrieked the alarmed

manageress.

 

“Doing, miss, doing? Why moving the furniture. This is the lot ain’t

it?”

 

“No, no, no; there must be some mistake. You must have come to the

wrong place.”

 

“Mistake, wrong place? No miss. ’Ere, look where’s that letter?” And

Jack placed a begrimed document before the lady.

 

The letter seemed right enough. It read beautifully, a plain direction

to clear the shop and remove the stuff elsewhere; it only lacked the

official heading of the company. But the joint inspection was rudely

broken in upon by the arrival of a couple of the knights of the brush

who had come “to do the chimbley, maam”; and ere they could be disposed

of vans of coals began to draw up, more pantechnicons, more sweeps,

loads of furniture, butchers with prime joints, plump birds from the

poulterers, fish of every conceivable kind, noisy green-grocer boys,

staggering under huge loads of vegetables; florists “to decorate,”

gasfitters, carpenters “to take down the counter, miss”; others “to put

it up.”

 

* * * * *

 

Pandemonium is quiet compared with that shop. The poor manageress was

in tears, deafened with the exasperated, swearing representatives

of, apparently, all the tradesmen for miles around. The thing had

been well done. No sooner had the provision merchants worked clear

and the streams of vans, waggons and carts been backed away to the

accompaniment of much lurid language, than ladies began to arrive with

boxes of mysterious long garments which, they assured the indignant

lady in charge, they were instructed were urgently needed for an event

they referred to as “interesting.” There was no monotony, for fast and

furious--very furious sometimes--came other maidens laden with more

boxes and still more boxes, filled with costumes, bonnets, and other

creations dear to the feminine mind. Then came servants “in answer to

your advertisement, madam.” They flocked in from all directions, north,

south, east and west. Never was seen such a concourse of servants:

dignified housekeepers, housemaids, parlourmaids, and every other

sort of maid, seemed to be making for that unfortunate manageress.

Sleek-looking butlers popped in, as uniformed nurses popped out.

Window-cleaners had to be torn from the windows they insisted they

had got orders to clean; carpet beaters sought carpets which did not

exist. Never had mortal--aye and immortal--requirements been thought

out with more thoughtful care. From the needs of the unborn baby, to

the “poor departed one,” whom melancholy gentlemen in seedy black came

to measure, all were remembered, and the man for whose especial benefit

presumably were intended beautiful wreaths, crosses, harps, etc., which

kept constantly arriving. Throughout that live-long day to the “dewy

eve” beloved of the poet the game went merrily on.

 

As a hoax the thing was worked for all it was worth. Not only had

shoals of letters evidently been sent out, but advertisements, too, had

been freely distributed among the press. Needless to say that, despite

the closest investigations, its author or authors, discreetly silent,

remained unknown.

 

The joke was not new by any means. Well nigh a century before

mischief-loving Theodore Hook had stirred all London by a similar

prank--the famous Berners Street Hoax. In those days Berners Street was

a quiet thoroughfare inhabited by fairly well-to-do families. Indeed

it was this very sedate quietness which drew upon it Hook’s unwelcome

attention. Fixing on one of the houses, which happened to be adorned

with a brass plate, he made a wager with a brother wag that he would

cause that particular house to become the talk of the town: and he

certainly did--for not only the town, but all England shrieked with

laughter when the result of his little manœuvre became known.

 

One morning, soon after breakfast, waggons laden with coals began

to draw up before the house with the brass plate, No. 54. These

were quickly succeeded with tradespeople by the dozen with various

commodities. These in turn were followed by van loads of furniture;

followed by a hearse with a coffin and a number of mourning coaches.

Soon the street became choked: for, what with the goods dumped down

as near as possible to the house--pianos, organs, and cart loads of

furniture of all descriptions, the anxious tradesmen, and the laughing

mob of people quickly attracted to the scene, confusion reigned

supreme. About this time the Lord Mayor and other notabilities began

to arrive in their carriages. His Lordship’s stay was short. He was

driven to Marlborough Street police office where he informed the

magistrate that he had received a note purporting to come from Mrs.

T., the victimised widow resident at No. 54, saying she was confined

to her room and begging his lordship to do her the favour of calling

on her on important business. Meanwhile, the trouble in Berners

Street was growing serious, and officers belonging to the Marlborough

Street office were at once sent to keep order. For a time even they

were helpless. Never was such a strange meeting: barbers with wigs;

mantlemakers with band-boxes; opticians with their various articles of

trade. Presently there arrived a couple of fashionable physicians, an

accoucheur, and a dentist. There were clockmakers, carpet manufacturers

and wine merchants, all loaded with specimens of their trade; brewers

with barrels of ale, curiosity dealers with sundry knickknacks;

cartloads of potatoes; books, prints, jewellery, feathers and furbelows

of all kinds; ices and jellies; conjuring tricks; never was such a

conglomeration. Then, about five o’clock servants of all kinds began

to troop in to apply for situations. For a time the police officers

were powerless. Vehicles were jammed and interlocked; the exasperated

drivers were swearing, and the disappointed tradesmen were maddened

by the malicious fun of the crowd who were enjoying the joke. Some

of the vans were overturned and many of the tradesmens’ goods came

to grief; while some of the casks of ale became the prey of the

delighted spectators. All through the day and late into the night this

extraordinary state of things continued, to the dismay and terror of

the poor lady and the other inmates of the house with the brass plate.

 

Theodore Hook had taken precautions to secure a good seat for the

performance, having taken furnished-apartments just opposite the house

of his victim, where he posted himself with one or two companions to

enjoy the scene. Hook’s connection with the mad joke was, fortunately

for him, not known until long afterwards; it seems he had devoted three

or four whole days to writing the letters, all couched in ladylike

style. In the end the novelist seems to have been rather frightened at

the result of his little joke, for he made a speedy departure to the

country; and there is no doubt that, had he been publicly known as its

author, he would have fared badly.

 

 

B. THE CAT HOAX

 

One very amusing variation of the countless imitations, which the

success of this trick gave rise to, was the “cat hoax” at Chester,

in August, 1815. It was at the time when it had been determined to

send Napoleon to St. Helena. One morning, a number of hand bills were

distributed in and around Chester, stating that, owing to the island of

St. Helena being invested with rats, the government required a number

of cats for deportation. Sixteen shillings were offered for “every

athletic full-grown tom cat, ten shillings for every adult female

puss, and a half-crown for every thriving kitten that could swill

milk, pursue a ball of thread, or fasten its young fangs in a dying

mouse.” An address was given at which the cats were to be delivered;

but it proved to be an empty house. The advertisement resulted in the

victimisation of hundreds of people. Men, women, and children streamed

into the city from miles around laden with cats of every description.

Some hundreds were brought in, and the scene before the door of the

empty house is said to have baffled description. When the hoax was

discovered many of the cats were liberated; the following morning no

less than five hundred dead cats were counted floating down the river

Dee.

 

 

C. THE MILITARY REVIEW

 

Practical jokes of this nature have more than once led to serious

results. In the summer of 1812 a report was extensively circulated that

a grand military review was to be held on the 19th of June. Booths were

erected and as many as twenty thousand people assembled, despite the

efforts of the authorities who, when they learned what was happening,

posted men in the several roads leading to the heath to warn the people

that they had been hoaxed. But their efforts were useless. The rumour

was believed and the contradiction ignored; vehicles, horsemen and

pedestrians pushed on to their destination. When, however, the day wore

on without any appearance of the promised military pageant, the crowd

grew angry and then broke out in acts of violence. The heath was set on

fire. Messengers were sent off express to London, and a detachment of

the guards had to be marched down to quell the mob. In the disorder one

poor woman was thrown out of a chaise and picked up in an unconscious

condition.