The immense assembly now dispersed, the roads being soon alive, especially that which led towards Chichester and London. On one of the four-in-hands was seated “White-headed Bob” (Ned Baldwin), then in the full sunshine of aristocratic patronage. Bob had spent the overnight, or rather the morning, at the Monday masquerade, then in vogue at “His Majesty’s Theatre,” in the Haymarket, and donning a most remarkable suite of grey moustaches, whiskers, and beard, the resemblance to the then Duke of Cumberland was perfect. As the populace recognised the counterfeit of the unpopular Duke, the fun was uproarious. Pulling up at the “King’s Arms,” mine host hurried out with a decanter of sherry, a waiter following with champagne. H.R.H. cried out, “No, thankee, waiter, the Duke will take something short!” The schnapps was supplied. “I’m glad to see ye, my people,” said His Royal Highness, “but d――――e if I like this stopping of fights; when I come next this way I’ll give you a turn, and if there’s no one else to fight, I’ll make one in a fight myself! Drive on, coachee!” And off went His Royal Highness in what the poet Bunn called “a blaze of triumph.” The topsawyers of the top-weights of the day set their public appearances at too high a figure for the poor, unsophisticated Deaf’un to obtain any hearing for his modest proposal to fight any 12 or 12½ stone man for £25 a side, so he sparred at benefits and at the fairs and tennis courts, and hung about looking for a job until September, 1830, when Gow, who had beaten Ned Savage in December, 1829, offered himself to the Deaf’un’s notice, and articles were signed for a meeting on October 5th. The toss being won by Gow, he named Woolwich, and thither all parties repaired. There, however, they found Superintendent Miller, of the Thames Police, with sundry row-boats, and off they moved into Essex; but they could not shake off the anti-milling Miller, who, calling on a couple of beaks, pursued the excursionists towards Leytonstone, reinforced by the “Essex lions.” A council was held, which decided that as the game was “U.P.” in Essex, a retreat to Temple Mills across the border into Middlesex was the only chance of a quiet meeting. A “horrid whisper” went round that Superintendent Miller had a warrant from the magistrates at Snaresbrook, and that two active constables were already on the track. Jack Carter, changing coat, hat, and handkerchief with the Deaf’un, with the quickness of a clown in a transformation scene, took the Deaf’un’s seat in a one-horse chaise, while both of the men made the best of their way towards Temple Mills. The ruse succeeded. Carter was yet a mile from the Essex frontier, when up rode a couple of mounted men, quickly followed by a posse of the amphibious Thames constables, and called upon the driver of the gig to “Stop, in the King’s name,” which he loyally and dutifully did, and away poor Carter was haled before the nearest beak, and his capture officially announced to the