To these “worthies” of the town we here add two or three of its “oddities.” About 1844 Billy Boulton, who kept an inn in Millstone Street, now called North Street, named the Tom Cat, was noted for his great strength; for a wager he dragged a “dung cart” on the turnpike road, from Lincoln, to his own yard in Horncastle, a distance of over 21 miles. It is said, however, that he suffered from rupture for the rest of his life, as a consequence of the great and continued exertion involved in this feat. The inn is now named The Cricketers’ Arms, but it may be noticed that the figure of a cat is still engraven on a pane of the front window. The same man bought the wife of a man named Rogers, a boatman, who put her up for auction, standing on a tub, with a halter round her neck, in the public street; the price paid being £20. She had a son and daughter by Boulton, who both lived to be married, but died early. In after years, having lost her (so called) husband, Boulton, she removed to Lincoln, and there meeting her former husband, Rogers, she became reconciled to him, and both again lived together, as man and wife, until death. {160} A man, known as Aty Rushton (short for Horatio), who lived in Horncastle, on the West Ashby Road, about the same period, and let out horses on hire, being in Lincoln, laid a wager that he would set off from Lincoln, above hill, just after the moon rose, and ride to Horncastle, 21 miles, before the moon should rise there; which would be later, the town being in a hollow, with a steep hill in the west to hide the moon for some time; while Lincoln is on a hill, with a view to the west over low county, where the moon would be seen earlier. He rode a swift animal of his own. and strained all its powers in the effort. Unfortunately there was then a toll bar on the Lincoln road about a mile from Horncastle, where he found the gate closed, and was delayed two or three minutes before the keeper could pass him through. He pressed on with all speed, galloping through the town, shouting in his excitement “Now me! now moon!”; but as he dashed into his own yard, he saw the moon shining in a bucket of water, standing by the stable door. The delay at the toll-bar had lost him his wager. A son of the above, Thomas Rushton, was a great fisherman, and not always particular where he followed his sport. Walking in the night to a certain lake in a park, about 6 miles from Horncastle, he fished it and landed two or three brace of good trout, and then about eight o’clock in the morning, he called at the hall, and sold them to the squire for his breakfast. He used to tell this anecdote to his confidants, with his well-known chuckle of satisfaction, as a satisfactory stroke of business. Many other stories of his performances with “the angle” could be also related, but this may suffice.