When the royal fleet came in, the crews, “panged” full of gold and glory, made straight for the taverns of Ratcliffe Highway, and of them, there footing it with their Polls and Molls, some one asked, “Why not get married?” Why not, indeed? Coaches are fetched; the party make off to the Fleet; plyers, Parsons, and publicans, all welcome them with open arms; the knots are tied in less than no time; there is punch with the officiating cleric; the unblushing fair are crammed into the coaches; Jack, his pocket lighter, his brain heavier, climbs up on the box or holds on behind; the populace acclaims the procession with old shoes, dead cats, and whatever Fleet Ditch filth comes handy; and so back to their native _Radcliffe_, to spend their honeymoon in “fiddling, piping, jigging, eating,” and to end the bout with a divorce even less ceremonious than their nuptials. “It is a common thing,” reports a tavern-keeper of that sea-boys’ paradise, “when a fleet comes in to have two or three hundred marriages in a week’s time among the sailors.” The work was mostly done cheap: the Parson took what he could get, and every one concerned must have his little bit. Thus, “the turnkey had a shilling, Boyce (the acting clerk) had a shilling, the plyer had a shilling, and the Parson had three and sixpence”--the total amounting to six shillings and sixpence. This was a fair average, though now and again the big-wigs netted large sums. A Fleet marriage was as valid as another; but in trials for bigamy the rub was: Had there been any marriage at all? Some accused would strenuously maintain the negative. In 1737 Richard Leaver was indicted at the Old Bailey for this offence; and “I know nothing about the wedding,” was his ingenuous plea. “I was fuddled overnight and next morning I found myself a-bed with a strange woman and ‘Who are you? How came you here?’ says I. ‘O, my dear,’ says she, ‘we were marry’d last night at the Fleet.’” More wonderful still was the story told by one Dangerfield, charged the preceding year for marrying whilst Arabella Fast, his first wife, was still alive. Arabella and he, so he asserted, had plotted to blackmail a Parson with whom the lady entertained relations all too fond. At ten at night he burst in upon them as had been arranged. “‘Hey’ (says I), ‘how came you a-bed with my spouse?’ ‘Sir,’ (says he), ‘I only lay with her to keep my back warm.’” The explanation lacked probability, and “in the morning” the erring divine acknowledged his mistake:--“I must make you a present if you can produce a certificate” (he suspected something wrong, you see). Dangerfield was gravelled. Not so the resourceful Arabella. “‘For a crown I can get a certificate from the Fleet,’ she whispered; and ‘I gave her a crown, and in half an hour she brings me a certificate.’” The jury acquitted Dangerfield.