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 HUxMAN CHARACTER DISPLAYED. 
 
 BY PAUL PINDAR, ESQ. 
 
 " THE PROPER STUDY OF MANKIND IS MAN." 
 
 LONDON: 
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 THE HISTORY 
 
 OF 
 
 ANDREW WHITSON. 
 
 " Description! abours here in vain, 
 " His perfect likeness to explain, 
 " -We ne'er shall see his like again." 
 
 To those who are in the habit of traversing the 
 streets of the Metropolis, particularly in the vicinity 
 of St. Paul's and Blackfriars, the extraordinary dimi- 
 nutive personage who bears this name, will be familiar; 
 since it is generally acknowledged that the accom- 
 panying portrait is an exact likeness. The peculiar 
 formation of thiB singular little man, is a s.ubject of 
 deep and interesting speculation to- the curious in 
 natural history, and he is, perjjaps, one of the'most 
 remarkable productions of the human species,'nor do 
 we find him deficient of mental capacity, even in the 
 fifty-second ydkr of his age. •. 
 
 Andrew Whitson, the father of our present sabject, 
 was a native of Cupar, in Angus, who was brought 
 up a cabinet-maker, and had received a good educa- 
 tion. -In the year 1756, he married Sophia, the 
 daughter o^ John Couston, a farmer of Fifeshire, at 
 the Parish- Church of St. 'Martin's in the Fields, and 
 eleven children'were subsequently the product of this 
 
 u
 
 2 ANDREW WHITSON. 
 
 union, of whicli little Andrew was the seventh, being 
 born on the 10th of February 1770, in Hanging 
 Sword Alley, Fleet Street, and was christened at St. 
 Bride's Church, as appears by his register in the 
 parish books. 
 
 At the time of his birth, his father who was an able 
 workman at his business, was employed by Messrs. 
 Winter and Kaye, of No. 14, Ludgate-hill, and could 
 earn a decent and comfortable livelihood ; but, having 
 a large family, his means were insufficient to pro- 
 cure education for all, consequently little Andrew 
 received his only instructions at the hand of his 
 revered parent ; and he blesses Providence that he 
 lias been taught to read and write, since it has afforded 
 him many opportunities of contemplating the Divine 
 goodness, in the protection and prolongation of his 
 existence, and enables him at this advanced period 
 of life, to pay his grateful adorations to the. Creator of 
 all things. He speaks of his mother, as a good and 
 affectionate wife, and a tender and indulgent parent, 
 whose death he had to regret on the 14th of April, 
 1800, when she was sixty-two years of age, and the 
 subject of our memoir was thirty ; this was one of the 
 first serious troubles of poor Andrew's life, which was 
 followed in five years after, by the dissolution of his 
 father, in the seventy-seventh year of his age, on the 
 26th of May, 1805. Thus deprived of his natural 
 protectors, who with all his decrepitude and debilities, 
 equally, if not more than equally, fostered and beloved 
 him ; bereft of the tender and indulgent hands of 
 his anxious and affectionate parents. 
 
 " The world was all before him, where to chuse?" 
 
 But alas! the prospect was uncheerful to the mental
 
 ANDREW WHTTSON. 3 
 
 eye. of little Andrew, his brothers and sisters 
 were grown up to maturity, and variously dis- 
 persed in the world, each having to struggle with 
 their own necessities, and he found himself without 
 power to labour for his own subsistence ; his father 
 had nothing to leave, and the kindness he had hitherto 
 experienced, he had no longer a right to expect, for 
 the sympathetic feelings of mankind, however well- 
 disposed and directed, are not consolations sufficient 
 to supply the loss of tender and affectionate parental 
 solicitude; and it should be remembered, that during 
 their lives, he was sheltered and screened from the 
 eye of public observation, the gaze of curiosity, 
 and the taunts of illiterate impertinence. 
 
 From this period, we have to contemplate him as a 
 man of the world — from this period he became a 
 mingler in society, and having been recommended by 
 a friend to procure a sledge, or machine to assist him 
 in his progress, he ventured into the streets of London, 
 exciting the compassion of some, and sharing the 
 disgust and indignation of others ; he was laughed at 
 and teased by boys, he was shrunk from by some, but 
 generally pitied and relieved, sufficiently to procure 
 his daily bread, and content under the impression — 
 that 
 
 " Man wants but little here below, 
 " Nor wants that little long." 
 
 He gratefully acknowledges there have been periods 
 in his life, when, from the bounties of the passing tra- 
 vellers in his perambulations through the streets, he has 
 been fortunate enough to derive as much as two pounds 
 per week ; but, as he wisely and emphatically observes, 
 " this was in better times than we have at present."
 
 4 ANDREW WHITSON. 
 
 After the death of his father, he resided in Cafttle- 
 yard, Hlackfiiars, and was in the habit of taking his 
 ulalion in S(. Paul's Church-yard, were it may be 
 ronienibcred he otVercd pens and quills for sale, and 
 says Little Andrew, " many is the bright shilling I 
 have obtained by that means, for from the bene- 
 volence of some, I have even received as much as five 
 Bliillings for two pens." He usually dealt at this 
 time with Mr. Winbolt, the Stationer at the corner of 
 Chcapside, whose general kindness he has a grateful 
 sense of, as that gentleman has frequently given him 
 the articles of trade ujjon which he placed his prin- 
 cipal dependence, and which, with the generosity and 
 benevolence which so strongly marks the British cha- 
 racter, constituted the only sources of subsistence, 
 without parochial assistance, or seeking refuge in the 
 confines of a workhouse ; from this period he has con- 
 tinued to rely on the donations he daily receives, and 
 rests at night on a homely pillow, with a heart full of 
 gratitude and contentment. 
 
 The Life of such a man cannot be expected to be 
 very abundant of adventures, since he has not had an 
 opportunity of engaging in any of the active and 
 bustling scenes which are witnessed by the more fa- 
 voured of our species; he appears, however, to have 
 been animated and inclined by the same motives and 
 to the same propensities, and in all probability, with 
 better powers, would have proved himself a useful, 
 perhaps a valuable member of society. His eldest 
 brother served his King in the 37th regiment of foot, 
 for seventeen years, and lost his life while performing 
 his duty in the West Indies. He still has a brother 
 living in Shoe-lane, who is about a head taller than
 
 ANDREW WHITSON. . O 
 
 himself; he also has a sister residing in service, but 
 has not seen either of them for some years, and has 
 derived no assistance from them. This sister is re- 
 siding- with Lady Townly, the well-known admirer 
 of the doctrines of Joanna Southcote ; and, as he 
 relates, her neglect of him arises from his objecting 
 to become a convert to her faith. The whole of the 
 ftimily, with the exception of himself and this brother, 
 were well proportioned, and he does not recollect 
 ever hearing from his father or mother, that the par- 
 ticular formation of his person was occasioned by any 
 fright or extraordinary circumstance during the preg- 
 nancy of the latter, but thinks his decrepitude ori- 
 ginated from the rheumatic fever which he had with 
 great severity, when he was three years and a half 
 old. 
 
 Love, ^'- the mighty conqueror oj hearts^'' has not 
 suffered oin' little Andrew to escape his vengeance, 
 but his wounds have been inflicted without consola- 
 tion: his first attack was in the attractive form of 
 Miss Jane Collins, of Shoe-lane, with whom he 
 thinks he should have been as happy as the days are 
 long ; he sincerely loved her, for as he says, " she 
 Mas an honest, well-disposed, and generous-hearted 
 girl, to whom he should certainly have been married, 
 had not another tyrant snatched the glowing visions 
 of futurity from his sight, and left despair to fill the 
 place of hope." She died, and Andrew wept her loss 
 with tears of inconsolable regret, the recollection of 
 which, time itself has not yet obliterated ; but the 
 sightless urchin had not yet done with him, for he wjis 
 doomed to love again, and Sarah Marshall came be- 
 fore him, blooming in youth and health, with many
 
 U ANDREW WUITSOy. 
 
 cliarms, altlioiigh' a widow; he saw her, and imme- 
 diately felt the inspiring effects of the wonder-working 
 god, lie commenced his assiduities and attentions to 
 the object of his adorations, till at length it was 
 agreed npon to put up the banns — but, alas ! 
 
 " She proved false and he undone." 
 
 This unexpected circumstance was truly afflicting 
 to poor little Andrew ; but as second loves are seldom 
 so firmly rooted as first affections, we have reason to 
 think it was borne with more resignation than the 
 former disappointment; and he thinks, from his subse- 
 quent knowledge of her situation in life, she has had 
 reason to repent of her folly since ; particularly as a 
 numerous list of his friends had commenced a hand- 
 some subscription to set them up in business ; but he 
 also thinks her intention to marry him was only in- 
 duced by the expectation, that he was possessed of 
 money, and that the match was broken off* in conse- 
 quence of discovering the contrary. 
 
 Little Andrew was once appointed by the late 
 Surgeon Long, to meet him ; but in consequence of 
 some misunderstanding, he went to meet the surgeon 
 at Guy's Hospital instead of St. Bartholomew's, from 
 which circumstance the intended interview never 
 took place, and he has not since that time been 
 importuned by any of the faculty ; nor does he at 
 the present moment appear to like the idea of under- 
 going any professional investigation. He is cheer- 
 ful, merry, and communicative, and perhaps as" ac- 
 tive as he ever was, having never experienced a 
 week's bodily ill health during his recollection., 
 though subjected, in wet seasons, to rheumatic at-
 
 ANDREW WHITSON. 7 
 
 tacks. He is a frequent attendant at the Rev. Row- 
 land Hill's chapel on a Sunday, and is an admirer of 
 that gentleman's doctrines from the pulpit, though he 
 was a more ardent admirer of the Rev. Mr. Edowes, 
 to the benevolence of whose heart he bears most 
 grateful testimony, by regretting his absence from 
 England, and thankfully acknowledging his dona- 
 tions of one shilling per week, and the kind and 
 friendly manner with which he relieved him at his 
 departure, by a present of ten shillings. He is 
 piously inclined, and well disposed to all, generally 
 respected by those who know him, and the residents 
 in his own neighbourhood. Remembers the riots in 
 1780, though he was laid up at the time with the 
 rheumatism ; also that the celebrated Samuel Wes- 
 ley died in the same year as the Albion mills were 
 burnt down ; has read of the controversy between 
 that well known divine and Whitfield, about free 
 will and free grace, and of their tossing up for the 
 particular line of doctrine each was to pursue; but 
 thinks, from reading Wesley's Sermons since, he did 
 not preach one word of free will. Remarks with 
 some pertinacity, on the eccentricities of Huntingdon, 
 whose life and writings he has perused. 
 
 This extraordinary man is about two feet eight 
 inches in height, and is thirty-three inches round the 
 body, twenty-two inches round the head, and four- 
 teen inches from the chin to the crown. From the 
 heel to the knee-joint he measures sixteen inches ; 
 ten from the knee-joint to the hip-bone, and six 
 inches and a quarter round the wrist ; so that had he 
 not been deformed, he would not have been a very 
 short man. He is double jointed throughout ; and
 
 8 ANDREW WHITSON. 
 
 possesses considerable strength, particularly in the 
 hand ; he sleeps on the floor ; dresses and undresses 
 himself without assistance, and has done so ever 
 since the day he was eight years old, and perhaps has 
 never stood upright. He is broad shouldered, and 
 open countenanced, with some intelligence in his eye, 
 and when he laughs, which he can do at a good joke, 
 there is u pleasing animation in his features, expres- 
 sive of his enjoyment ; he has generally a good appe- 
 tite, and has never experienced the head-ache of a 
 morning, even if the amusements of the evening have 
 betrayed him into the indiscretion of devoting him- 
 self too much to the Bacchanalian god ; and in his 
 travels many who are not disposed to give him money, 
 will invite him to share their grog, or treat him with a 
 glass of juniper. He seldom has to purchase clothes 
 or shoes, which are generally supplied by some hu- 
 mane christians, though at the time of making our 
 enquiries, he exultingly states, he is to have a new 
 shirt on Sunday next ; aye, and a new one again on 
 the Sunday following ! When he buys a new pair of 
 shoes, he gets them for four shillings. The machine 
 upon which he travels cost him, wheels and all, about 
 three shillings, and lasts him three years ; but he 
 finds it necessary to have a new pair of crutches 
 every six months. His legs are curved, and have 
 the appearance of thin planks, having no calves ; the 
 shin bones are greatly protruded, but they are usually 
 covered with a clean white apron. The best jacket he 
 ever had in hi& life was made for him by a woman, 
 which, he says, was greatly admired, as it was indeed 
 an excellent fit. He now resides in Pitt's-place, Bank- 
 side, and may generally be seen crossing Blackfriars-
 
 ANDREW WHITSON. 9 
 
 bridge about twelve o'clock in the morning, and calls at 
 Surr's Wine Vaults, Shoemaker-row, Doctors' Com- 
 mons ; and may sometimes be met with at Goodall's 
 in Salisbury-court. Always sleeps well, has his 
 kettle prepared in the morning, and his landlady 
 makes tea for him ; he dines at a cook's shop, or pur- 
 chases a few ounces of cold meat, and adjourns to a 
 public-house, for the refreshing accompaniment of 
 a pint of porter. Thus, day by day, he continues the 
 career of life, and with an unimpaired constitution 
 may probably live for many years. 
 
 The theories of some speculative philosophers, 
 which would lead us to judge of mental capacity by 
 the outward formation of the body, is by no means 
 verified by a contemplation of the character and con- 
 duct of little Andrew ; for with few opportunities 
 of acquiring education in his early years, he appears 
 to have mingled with the world with an eye fitted 
 for observation, and has made such use of his time 
 during his intercourse with society, as to stare his 
 mind with information, scarcely inferior to others of 
 his age in similar walks of life.
 
 THE REV. GEORGE HARVEST; 
 
 on, 
 
 THE ABSENT MAN. 
 
 " With virtue, capacity, and good conduct, a man may yet be 
 " insupportable; certain modes of behaviour, which are often 
 *' neglected as beneath notice, are what frequently make the 
 " world judge well or ill of you." 
 
 In the annals of eccentricity, perhaps a more ex- 
 traordinary character than that of the Rev. George 
 Harvest, late of Thames Ditton, can scarcely be 
 pointed out ; who with a combination of excellent 
 talents and a classical education at Oxford, was one of 
 the most negligent and absent men ever known, over 
 whose memory, while recording his peculiarities, the 
 Genius of Biography may deservedly shed a tear. 
 
 It is recorded of this singular divine, that notwith- 
 standing he was bred for the Church, an inherent 
 fondness for dramatic exhibitions induced him, at an 
 early period of life, to join the sons of Thespis and 
 Melpomene, and try his abilities on the boards of 
 the different provincial theatres. Propensities to 
 the stage are not unfrequent in the young and ar- 
 tient-minded, but the efforts of Mr. Harvest in 
 this way, were generally more detrimental to his 
 purse, than instrumental to his fame ; a circumstance, 
 we apprehend, not unparalleled in the present day —
 
 THE REV. GEOUGE HARVEST. 11 
 
 we mean in the case of the celebrated amateur of 
 fashion, Blr. Romeo Coates. 
 
 Mr. Harvest being in possession of an estate 
 o^ £300 per annum, and having a firm friend in Dr. 
 Crompton, Bishop of London, whose daughter had 
 made an impression upon his heart ; at the age of 
 twenty-four years relinquished his pretensions to 
 the Sock and Buskin, but not without leaving an 
 abundance of anecdotes impressed on the memories 
 of his friends, the most remarkable of which we 
 purpose to detail in this memoir. 
 
 Soon after withdrawing his claims to histrionic fame, 
 having ingratiated himself so far into the esteem of 
 the Bishop's daughter, the happy day was appointed 
 for their union ; but, strange to say, on the arrival 
 of that day, the Reverend Gentleman was not to be 
 found ; he had forgotten one of the most important 
 engagements of life, and left home early in the morn- 
 ing, which was his custom, to go a fishing ; whether 
 he was fortunate enough to catch fish on that day 
 or not, we have not ascertained, but certain it is, 
 that the lady, justly offended at this neglect and 
 disappointment, broke off the match, determined 
 
 " He should not gudgeon her." 
 
 He now commenced house-keeping, and entertained 
 large parties at his table ; he was an amusing and in- 
 telligent companion ; and among others who visited 
 him was Mr. Arthur Onslow, Speaker of the House 
 of Commons, who resided at Ember-court, in the 
 parish of Thames Ditton, and who became his intimate 
 friend, insomuch that through this gentleman's in- 
 terest he obtained the living of Thames Ditton,
 
 Jg THE REV. GEOIIGE HARVEST. 
 
 which he held during life; and Lord Onslow, the 
 Speaker's son, was so much pleased with liis corn- 
 pan n and conversation, that he took him to Ember- 
 court where he resided, in fact, more than he did at 
 his own home. Housekeeping, however, was far 
 from being beneficial to Mr. Harvest, for his servants, 
 takin*!" advantage of his negligence, and habitual ab- 
 sence of mind, ran him in debt so far that his circum- 
 stances became considerably embarrassed. It is a 
 fact, well-authenticated by those who had opportuni- 
 ties of knowing the circumstance, that his maid-ser- 
 vant was in the habit of giving balls to her friends, 
 and other servants in the neighbourhood, and per- 
 suading her master that the noise he heard, was music 
 in the street, or the effect of wind. 
 
 Judging from his actions, his memory was of no use 
 to him, he was constantly like the watermen, who 
 look one way and row another, even so much so, that 
 he has been tried and found to have forgotten his own 
 name; the confusion of his ideas was inconceivable, 
 he has been known to write a letter to one person, 
 direct it to another, and address it to a third, who 
 could not devise from whom it came, in consequence 
 of his having forgotten to sign his name, thus creating 
 embarrassment to his friends, and rendering himself 
 ridiculous. His reveries and distractions were so 
 frequent, that scarcely a day passed, without his com- 
 mitting some egregious mistake. He would some- 
 times pass his most intimate acquaintance in the 
 street without notice, and sometimes mistaking- one 
 for another, commence a conversation upon subjects, 
 with which his companion was wholly unacquainted. 
 If a beggar happened to take off his hat to him, craving
 
 THE REV. GEORGE HARVEST. 13 
 
 his charity, Mr. Harvest made a low bow, and told 
 him he was his most obedient humble servant, and 
 walked on, leaving the poor applicant more amazed 
 and surprized, than satisfied. 
 
 He was in the habit of attending the Beef-steak 
 club, held in Ivy-lane, to which Smollett, Johnson, 
 and others belonged ; and walking one evening with 
 a friend in Temple-gardens previous to the meeting, 
 he picked up a small pebble of so curious a shape, 
 that he said he would present it to Lord Bate, who 
 was an eminent virtuoso. He kept the pebble in his 
 hand, and some time after being asked by his friend 
 what o'clock it was, he pulled out his watch, and in- 
 formed him they had still seven minutes good. They 
 look a turn or two more, when, to the utter astonish- 
 ment of his friend, Mr. Harvest tossed the watch 
 into the Thames, and with the utmost gravity, put the 
 pebble he had found into his fob. 
 
 His character for forgetfulness was so well known 
 to his friends, that no one would lend him a horse, as 
 the chances were strongly against their having it 
 returned, for he has often been known to lose the 
 animal from under him, or at least from out of his 
 hands ; it being frequently his practice to dismount 
 and lead the horse, with the bridle tucked under his 
 arm, which the horse would sometimes shake off, 
 or the intervention of a post occasioned to fall ; 
 sometimes it was taken off by mischievous boys, when 
 the unconscious Parson was seen dragging the bridle 
 after him, and if asked what he had done with the 
 animal, he would turn round with surprize, but could 
 give no account of it, or how he had lost it. 
 
 Mr. Harvest, (though a man of good sense, and
 
 14 THE HEV. GEOIIGE HARVEST. 
 
 every day doing and saying something- inadvertently, 
 which denoted his mind to be cast in no common 
 mould,) was constantly tliinking of something else 
 than what ho ought to have considered ; his want of 
 attention to the present, led him often into disagree- 
 able, as well as ridiculous mistakes ; even the most 
 important duties of his sacred ollice as a clergyman, 
 were forced to yield to his inadvertent way of acting. 
 Mis distraction, however, appeared to proceed from a 
 certain vivacity, and changeableness of temper, which 
 furnished a variety of ideas to his mind, continually 
 propelled, without admitting of arrangement, or al- 
 lowing it to rest on any particular image. Nothing, 
 therefore, could be more incongruous, than the con- 
 ceptions and thoughts of such a man, uninfluenced at 
 all times, being by the company he was in, or of the 
 objects immediately before him, you might fancy him 
 attending to your discourse, while he was in thought 
 bobbing for eels, or rehearsing a character in Shake- 
 speare, and it was far from impossible, but he was 
 building castles in the air. 
 
 Having been desired one Sunday Morning to ofii- 
 ciate at St. Mary's, in Oxford, some waggish friend 
 wrote the following burlesque on the banns of matri- 
 mony, which being duly put forward, was read by 
 Mr. Harvest as follows : 
 
 " I publish the marriage banns between 
 Jack Cheshire, and the widow Glos'ter : 
 
 Both of a parish that is seen, 
 'Twixt Oxford here, and Paternoster ; 
 
 Who, to keep out the wind and weather, 
 
 Hereafter mean to pig together. 
 
 So if you mean to put ia caveat, 
 
 Now is the time to let us have it."
 
 THE REV. GEORGE HARVEST. 15 
 
 On another occasion, having to preach before the 
 clergy at the Visitation, he took with him three ser- 
 mons in his pocket, some wags getting possession of 
 them, mixed the leaves, and sewed them all up as 
 one. The Doctor commenced his sermon, but soon lost 
 the thread of his discourse, became confused, but still 
 persisted, and actually lost his congregation without 
 losing his temper; for he first preached out tjie 
 clergy, who had met on the occasion ; next the 
 church wardens ; and lastly, all but the beadle and 
 the sexton, who informing him that all the pews were 
 empty, he tucked the triple sermon into his pocket, 
 and walked home. 
 
 It is also related of Mr. Harvest, that being once 
 at a gentleman's house in the city, and taking his 
 leave in the evening with intention to go away, in one 
 of his tits of abstraction he mistook his road, and abso- 
 lutely went up three pair of stairs into the garret : 
 the female servants were ironing, and were at a loss 
 to conceive what was the cause of the noise they 
 heard in an adjoining room, not untinctured with 
 supernatural fears — they were alarmed with the idea 
 of a ghost. At length, one more determined than the 
 rest, seized a light, with an intention to discover the 
 cause of their agitation, and, if possible, to allay the 
 perturbed spirit, and found Mr. Harvest stamping 
 about the room, as much in confusion as they were in 
 alarm : upon seeing her, however, he said he thought 
 he had made some mistake, and begged to know if 
 that was not the way to the street-door? She 
 shewed him down stairs, and then returning to the 
 laundry, they enjoyed a hearty laugh at the Reverend 
 Gentleman's expence. Indeed, such was his ha-
 
 lf> THE RBV. GEORGE HARVEST. 
 
 bitual absence and distraction of mind, that he has 
 frequently forgotten the prayer days, and walked into 
 the church, with his gun upon his arm, enquiring 
 what could be the cause of the people assembling. 
 He was at all times slovenly, nay, almost beastly in 
 his person, and wherever he slept, he used commonly 
 to pervert the use of every utensil : he would go to 
 bed between clean sheets in dirty boots; wash his 
 mouth and hands in the pot de chambre, and wipe 
 himself on the counterpane. He was facetious and 
 talkative in company, but not a circulator of the 
 bottle, for he would always fill when the bottle was 
 opposite to him, so that he not unfrequently took half 
 a dozen glasses running, and by this means was often 
 intoxicated, while the rest of the company remained 
 sober, and he unconscious of the cause, alone had 
 to regret the effect. 
 
 Love is at all times represented to be blind, and 
 perhaps the wily urchin could not have pitched upon 
 a subject more likely to act blindly under his in- 
 fluence, than the Rev. George Harvest ; one anec- 
 dote has already been recorded, and it will appear 
 somewhat surprising, that after that occurrence he 
 should, upon a similar occasion, have been found 
 equally, if not additionally, ridiculous ; losing, as he 
 did thereby, an amiable female companion for life, 
 with a handsome fortune. Matters were all ar- 
 ranged ; but upon the arrival of the day, upon which 
 he was to become a husband, the carriage called 
 at his door to take him to breakfast with his intended 
 bride and her father, the expected bridegroom was no 
 where to be found. The fact was, he had left the 
 house early in the morning and nobody could tell
 
 THE REV. GEORGE HARVEST. 17 
 
 what was become of him, nor did he recollect any 
 thing of the affair till the dusky shadows of the even- 
 ing were surrounding- him, when he abruptly left the 
 company he was in and ran like a madman back ; but 
 in such a filthy plight did he arrive as scarcely to be 
 known; he, however, made the utmost speed to the 
 place of assignation, to apologize for his absence ; but 
 this lady, like the one already mentioned, feeling her- 
 self neglected and ill-treated, would never consent 
 to see him afterwards. In this case, the fineness of 
 the weather had induced him to wander as far as 
 Richmond, where, without thinking of his previous 
 engagement, and that 
 
 " When a Lady's in the case, 
 " All other things give place j" 
 
 he consented to dine with company ; his precipitate 
 departure from whom appeared unaccountable, until a 
 subsequentexplanationtookplace, when Mr, Harvest 
 declared, as he frequently did afterwards, that it was 
 one of the pleasantest days of his life. 
 
 The uncouth figure of this divine was such as at all 
 times to excite risibility if not disgust ; his shoes and 
 stockings were generally in a beastly condition, as he 
 would not suffer them to be cleaned, and he generally 
 travelled on foot, regardless of all weathers ; nor did 
 he ever pick his way, but waded through the middle 
 of the road, however deep the mire he had to encoun- 
 ter; in consequence of which, he more than once or 
 twice narrowly escaped being run over. He seldom 
 appeared in a clean shirt, and even when he did, the 
 other parts of his dress were outre in the extreme ♦ 
 perhaps with two odd stockings or a pair of dirty 
 
 u
 
 IS THF, TIEV. CEORCE HARVEST. 
 
 boots; of thin, however, he thought nothing ; for if 
 reminded of his slovenly appearance, he would sim- 
 ply reply, " that indeed he was not very particular." 
 IMoney he seldom wanted, and less frequently carried, 
 except a few halfpence for the casual supply of a few 
 nuts, shrimps, or gingerbread, which when he had 
 purchased, he would thrust into his waistcoat pocket 
 among- the remaining coppers, generally accompanied 
 with tobacco, gunpowder, worms, gentles for fishing, 
 crumbs of bread, and other articles, and forgetting 
 they were there, would carry this accumulation of 
 rubbish, &c. about Avith him till the smell rendered 
 his presence almost insulTerable. The late Countess 
 Dowager of Pembroke once turned out such an hete- 
 rogeneous mass as filled a dust shovel : but of all the 
 remarkable exploits of this Reverend Gentleman, aii 
 equestrian expedition to see the above-mentioned 
 lady during their courtship, must not be forgotten. 
 lie had, upon some occasions, when pressed for time, 
 taken a shirt and cravat with him, and shifted him in 
 a bye lane in the road to his place of destination; 
 thinking it necessary, in the present instance, to go on 
 horseback to pay this visit to the object of his affections: 
 it being w inter time and the roads very dirty, he pro- 
 vided himself with the necessary articles, determining to 
 change as he went along ; accordingly he proceeded to 
 the end of a lane, at the bottom of which the lady lived, 
 and there commenced his operations ; when stripping- 
 himself, laying the articles before him, and hanging- 
 the bridle on the neck of his Rosinante, just as he 
 was attempting to put his shirt on, the horse took 
 fright, throwing his clothes in the dirt, and ran with 
 the Parson, almost in a state of nudity, quite to the
 
 THE REV. GEORGE HARVEST. 19 
 
 door of the lady's house, Avhere the astonished family 
 received the Reverend Gentleman without shirt or 
 hat, splashed and bespattered with the speed of the 
 horse in a muddy road, where he, half alarmed and 
 half ashamed, solicited the assistance of one of the 
 servants to recover the scattered accoutrements he 
 had left in the lane. 
 
 His intimacy with the Onslow family, who lived 
 at Ember-court, in the parish of Thames Ditton, 
 has already been noticed ; the family were so fond 
 of Mr. Harvest's company that a bed was pro- 
 vided for him, and he resided there as long as he 
 chose. Many anecdotes are related of him during* 
 his visits in this family, where unrestrained by the 
 rank of his host, and regardless of that decorous 
 respect which ought to be paid to the softer sex, 
 he was daily guilty of some gross deviation from 
 the customary rules of propriety ; they, however 
 knew him, and the family had a mode of putting 
 him on his guard, when they conceived him falling 
 into any of those inadvertencies, by calling Col. Col. 
 which he readily understood to mean the fellow of a 
 college, and which were intended to remind him, that 
 he was acting as a mere scholar. 
 
 Being once in a party with Mr. Onslow, in a punt 
 on the Thames, Mr. Harvest began to read a fa- 
 vourite passage in a Greek author with some curious 
 theatrical gestures ; his wig fell into the water, when 
 the Doctor, impatient to regain the lost appendage 
 of his pericranium, jumped into the water, and was 
 with some difficulty recovered from the watery cle- 
 ment into which he had so precipitately plunged 5 
 U[)on finding himself safe in the boat again, he ob-
 
 20 THE IlEV. GEORGE HARVEST. 
 
 eci vf(l that liis Greek had never had such a wetting 
 hcfiire. 
 
 ^'l•arsalul experience seem to have had no effect 
 upon his memory, for his hitter years were marked 
 with as much of thoughtless inadvertency as his 
 younger days ; when his old school-fellow at Eton, 
 Lord Sandwich, was canvassing for the Vice-Chan- 
 ccllor.ship of Cambridge, Mr. Harvest went down to 
 give him his vote. One day in conversation with his 
 lordship, at a large dinner party, he suddenly ex- 
 claimed, " A-propos, whence do you, my lord, derive 
 the nick name of Jemmy Txcilcher .?" " Wity," an- 
 swered his lordship, " from some foolish fellow or 
 other." "Aye," but replied Harvest, "it is not 
 from some, but every body calls you so," on which 
 his lordship perceiving his plate was empty, and a 
 pudding standing near, put a large slice on the Doc- 
 tors's plate, who immediately seizing it, put an end 
 to this disagreeable altercation. Mr. Harvest was 
 well known to be a great lover of pudding, as well as 
 argument : being once at a visitation, the archdeacon 
 Avas expatiating very pathetically on the transitory 
 things of this life, enumerating among many others, 
 health, beauty, riches, power, &c. ; the Doctor who 
 was an attentive listener to this discourse, turning 
 about to help hiuiself to a slice of pudding, found it 
 was all gone ; upon which, turning to the Reverend 
 moralist, he begged Mr. Archdeacon in his future cata- 
 logue of transitory things, not to forget to insert a 
 pudding. 
 
 On one occasion having accompanied Lord Sand- 
 wich to Calais, they walked on the ramparts; in one 
 of his usual musings on some geometrical problem, he
 
 THE REV. GEORGE HARVEST. 21 
 
 lost his company isj the midst of the town, he knew 
 nothing of French, and was therefore puzzled to find 
 his way to the hotel ; but suddenly recollecting his 
 lordship was at the Silver Lion, he placed a shilling;- 
 in his moutii, and pat himself in the situation of a lion 
 rampant, to the no small amusement of the surround- 
 ing- spectators ; and after further endeavours to make 
 himself understood, he was led back to the inn by a 
 soldier, who strongly suspected he was a maniac 
 escaped from his keepers. 
 
 His strong attachment to theatrical performances) 
 which manifested itself in early years, had somewhat 
 abated with his advance in life, though he was still an 
 admirer of the histrionic art ; being invited one 
 evening by Lady Onslow, to accompany a large party 
 to witness the performance of Garrick in a favorite 
 character ; they took their seats in the front row of 
 the fiont boxes. IMr. Harvest intending to sleep in 
 town, had brought his nigiit-cap in his pocket ; it 
 was of striped woollen, and from its appearance had 
 not been washed for many months. While in conver- 
 sation with some of the ladies, the luckless doctor 
 pulling out his handkerchief with a jerk, at the same 
 time jerked his night-cap into the pit, the person on 
 whom it fell tossed it from him, which was repeated 
 by the next, and again by the third, thus the cap was 
 for some minutes tossed to and fro all over the pit, 
 to the great mirth of the audience, and poor Harvest 
 had the mortification of seeing this useful appendage, 
 Hying in all directions, when to the unspeakable as- 
 tonishment of the company he was in, the parson who 
 was afraid of losing his night-cap, arose with much 
 solemnity; and, after hemming three times to clear
 
 22 THE KEV. GEORGE HARVEST. 
 
 l)is pipo, fiiiislicd the farce, by requesting those who 
 were aimipiii<^ themselves with his cap, to restore it to 
 him the rightful owner, when they had had fun enough 
 with it; at the same time observing, it was a very 
 serious thing for a man to die without a night-cap ; 
 and, said he, emphatically placing his left hand on his 
 breast—" I Jissure you I shall be restless to-night, if 
 1 have not my cap." The serious manner of this ad- 
 dress convulsed the audience with laughter, the cap 
 was handed to him on the end of a stick, for which he 
 expressed himself truly obliged, and was relieved 
 from his apprehension of a restless night ; better 
 pleased with the recovery of his property, than the ladies 
 around him Avere for the moment with his company. 
 
 The company of ladies never operated as a restraint 
 upon his improprieties, and many anecdotes are re- 
 lated of him, to prove the truth of this observation, 
 perhaps one of the least censureable, is the following: 
 — Being one day in a large company, chiefly of the 
 fair sex at Lady Onslow's, a large fly who had buzzed 
 about him for some time, at last settled upon the bonnet 
 of one of the ladies, upon seeing which, he arose 
 with a grave look, addressed the fly with a serious 
 accent, in the following words, " May you be mar- 
 ried," and with intent to kill the fly, gave the lady so 
 violent a blow on the head as quite deranged her 
 attire, and threw the whole company into confusion ; 
 so much so that had not Lady Onslow entered the 
 room at that moment, and apologized for the Doc- 
 tor's conduct, they would all have retired in affront ; 
 upon the intercession of this lady, however, and Mr. 
 Harvest's begging pardon of the offended lady, the 
 affair terminated in a hearty laugh.
 
 TJIE REV. GEORGE HARVEST. 23 
 
 At one time perceivinf^ a friend and his wife in an 
 upper room at Ember-court, he in joke only, locked 
 them in, and put the kev in his pocket, wholly forget- 
 ful of what he had done ; he soon after left the house, 
 and it was near dark before the prisoners could be set 
 at liberty. On another occasion, in one of his absent 
 fits, he mistook the door of a friend's house, and en- 
 tered another, which stood invitingly open, and finding 
 no servant in the way, he rambled all over the house, 
 till he came to a room where an old lady was ill in 
 bed of a quinsey ; in the abruptness of his entrance, 
 he stumbled over a night-stool, overturned a clothes- 
 horse, and might have done further mischief, had not 
 the suffering lady, affrighted at his intrusion, began 
 to make a noise, which brought the servants about 
 her, who finding Mr. Harvest in the room instead 
 of the apothecary, who was momentarily expected, 
 and seeing the confusion in which he stood amidst 
 the ruin he had made, quieted the old lady's fears, 
 and occasioned her to burst into such an immo- 
 derate fit of laughter, as broke the quinsey in her 
 throat ; and she lived many years afterwards, to thank 
 Dr. Harvest for his lucky mistake. 
 
 This singular man, whose forgetfulness continued 
 with him through life, was nevertheless an amusing 
 and intelligent companion, and no inelegant scholar; 
 but the most filthy in appearance and manner that 
 can be conceived, he lived to the age of sixty-one, and 
 died at Ember-court in August, 1789.
 
 S A M II O U S E, 
 
 rOMMONLY CALLED 
 
 SIR SAMUEL HOUSE. 
 
 THE PATRIOTIC PUBLICAN OF SOIIO. 
 
 " Your scribblers who brandish their goose-fcalhcr'd staves, 
 
 •' To batter down princes, and bolster up knaves; 
 
 " Oh let not the spite of such impotent foes, 
 
 *• Strike pain to the bosom where purity glows." 
 
 In a work professing to delineate the lives and 
 actions of eccentric characters, an endeavour to diver- 
 sify them as much as possible, cannot fail to elicit its 
 due proportion of approbation ; and the one that is 
 now selected, of a man, who, upon many occasions, 
 rendered himselfconspicuous in the political struggles 
 of Westminster, to secure the return of the Right 
 lion. Charles Fox to Parliament, may well be con- 
 sidered as deserving of our early notice. 
 
 Sam House, or as he was generally termed, at the 
 time in which he lived, Sir Samuel, kept the sign of the 
 Intrepid Fox, or l!ie Cap bf Lihertt/, at the corner of 
 Peter-street, in Wardour-street, Soho; and, perhaps 
 was one of the greatest friends to that highly-gifted 
 statesman that ever lived ; as he was constantly 
 praying for his success, and huzzaing his name ; in 
 his person he was slovenly in the extreme, and even
 
 SAM HOUSE. 25 
 
 in attending^ his customers seldom wore his coat; his 
 breeches knees were generally unbuttoned, his stock- 
 ings hanging about his heels, with his shirt collar 
 open, and without any neckcloth ; his head was bald, 
 and his figure upon the whole uncouth; yet his house 
 was much frequented, as his name was well known; 
 and many came merely for the purpose of witnessir>g 
 his humour, and if thwarted in that, which was usu- 
 ally of a political bias, the offenders have had to rue 
 their temerity. He had a wife and several children, 
 and the domestic broils in which he became engaged, 
 were generally occasioned by some political differences. 
 Such was his admiration of Mr. Fox's principles, that 
 no person ever asked him to drink the health of his 
 favourite patriot without his immediate compliance ; 
 while on the other hand, the slightest allusion the 
 other way, would rouse his indignation to such a pitch 
 of ill-temper, that he would not hesitate to kick his 
 opponent out of his house, even at the expence of an 
 unpaid reckoning, and sometimes at the loss of more 
 valued customers, by delaying the execution of their 
 orders, till he had accomplished the task. 
 
 His activity during the election, brought him daily 
 to the hustings in Covent-garden, to convey the 
 voters; upon one occasion, as he was passing Ilood 
 and Wray's corner, opposite the hotel in King-street, 
 with a coach full of his friends, they were insulted 
 by some of the sailors; one of whom seeing Sam put 
 his head out of the window, made a desperate blow at 
 him, which, if it had taken effect, must evidently 
 have killed him. Sam, justly incensed at this extreme 
 act of inhumanity, immediately exclaimed, "7J — nijour 
 eyts^you cowardly blackguards^ if Sir CeciPs small 
 
 E
 
 2() SAM HOUSE. 
 
 beer lias iiiade you valiant, let the best of you turn 
 out, and 1'!! light him." This was followed by shouts 
 Df applause, and Sam succeeded in landing his corps 
 in perfect safely at the hustings. 
 
 Dr. Jebb being at one time desirous of introducing 
 ^Ir. Churchill as a candidate for Westminster, took 
 great pains to convert Sam to his political principles; 
 but the staunch advocate of Fox remaining inflexible, 
 he consigned him to the management of his lady and 
 Mrs. Churchill, who took an active part in the po- 
 litics of that day ; but notwithstanding the influence 
 of female rhetoric, their endeavours were equally un- 
 t^uccessful — Sam was immoveable. 
 
 It happened that her Grace, the Duchess of D e, 
 
 in company with two ladies and a gentleman, passing 
 down Wardour-street, met Sam in his usual singu- 
 larity of costume, surrounded by a few of his constant 
 friends, comprising a select party of the mobility. 
 The shouting of Sam and his party, attracting the 
 notice of the gentleman, he looked out of the window 
 and immediately recognizing him, he beckoned him 
 to the carriage-door in order to give the ladies a view 
 of him; upon coming up to the carriage, the gentle- 
 man informed him the Duchess of D e was one of 
 
 the party, on glancing his eye into the carriage, Sam 
 soon discovered her Grace ; but the courteous civility 
 of the gentleman only drew from Sam, in his custom- 
 ary rough way, " D — n my eyes, let us have none 
 ofyourriggs; no tricks upon travellers. B — t you, 
 do you think I don't know the Duchess well enough 
 to know you tell a d — d lie. The Duchess, d — n you, 
 is not here, God bless her Grace ; huzza !" and away 
 he went, followed by his companions, pretending to
 
 SAM HOUSE. 
 
 27 
 
 inveigh against the gentleman, for this endeavour to 
 deceive him. The motive for this conduct was after- 
 wards explained. He was desirous to save her 
 Grace from paragraphical animadversions in the 
 public prints, or Tavern conversations. 
 
 Till the period before mentioned, Sam and Churchill 
 were on good terms with each other; but an unfortu- 
 nate visit of Sam's only served to confirm his suspi- 
 cions of Churchill's duplicity, and had the effect of 
 completely dissolving their political friendship. Upon 
 his calling on that gentleman, (a few days after his wait- 
 ing upon Dr. Jebb,) merely with a " how d'ye do,'' 
 he found Mr. Churchill closely engaged with some 
 persons he did not like, and without caring for the 
 party he was with, plumply, but ironically, exclaimed, 
 " halloo. Master Churchill, what sort of company do 
 you keep ?" Churchill was taken by surprize ; but 
 feeling the full force of the allusion, he replied with 
 some warmth, " You're an ungrateful man ;" which 
 called forth the following remark from Sam : — " I'll 
 tell you what, Master Jackey, you're playing a dou- 
 ble game here; but I'll be d — d if your physic shall 
 operate in Westminster, and so good bye." 
 
 Mr. Fox's friends having noticed the profusion of 
 Sam, during the election, became apprehensive that 
 his circumstances might be injured, and determined 
 to offer him some remuneration ; but the difficulty 
 was how to convey this mark of their sense of his 
 exertions to a man of his known independence of 
 spirit ; it was at length agreed upon that a quantity 
 of beer and spirits should be sent him to re-place what 
 he had given away. Mr. Byng and some other 
 friends therefore waited upon Sam, and communi-
 
 g8 SAM HOUSE. 
 
 catcd Ibis resolution ; when, said Mr. Byng', what 
 do yon think was his answer, (with the calmness of a 
 philosoplier and a look expressive of disdain, consi- 
 derini^ it an insult to oft'er him a recompcnce,) " You 
 may be d — d I" 
 
 A short time previous to the dissolution of Parlia- 
 ment, at one of the monthly meetings at the Shake- 
 speare, Sam attended with other electors, and ren- 
 dering himself conspicuous by his oaths and extraor- 
 dinary appearance ; the Duke of Rutland, who was 
 present, expressed a desire to speak to him ; accord" 
 ingly Sam was called to the table where his Grace 
 was sitting, by the side of INIajor Stanhope, who 
 asked him very placidly and mildly, if he could not 
 speak without swearing; to which Sam instantly 
 replied, " B — t your eyes, would you have a man 
 speak in any other language but what he is master 
 of." This, of course, stopped all further conversation 
 between two great men — his Grace the Duke of 
 Rutland, and the celebrated Sam House. 
 
 In addition to his political eccentricities, Sam had 
 some other peculiarities to mark his character ; he 
 was distinguished for the delight he took in leaping 
 from the top of Westminster-bridge intd the water, 
 to shew his activity notwithstanding his corpulence; 
 it is related also, that he laid a wager with a youno- 
 man to run a race with him in Oxford-road, and in 
 all probability would have won, had it not been for 
 an arch trick played upon him by a friend of his anta- 
 gonist, who knowing Sam's attachment to his fa- 
 vourite, cried out as he passed him, loud enough to 
 be heard by him, " D — n Fox, and all his friends, say 
 1." This was a fatal speech to the race, for Sam,
 
 SAM HOUSE. 29 
 
 reo;arilless of winning or losing, immediately attacked 
 this blasphemer, and gave him so severe a drubbing 
 as almost to spoil his walking for a time, though the 
 other cried out lustily that he was only joking ; — 
 " D— n your jokes," said Sir Samuel, " 1 am only 
 joking ; take that, and take that, and learn to time 
 your jokes better; I don't like such jokes." This 
 amused the surrounding spectators perhaps equally 
 as well as the race would have done ; and Sam con- 
 tented himself by gaining a victory although he had 
 lost his wager, which he afterwards paid with great 
 pleasure in consequence of having lost it in so noble 
 a cause. 
 
 He has been known, in writing a copy for his chil- 
 dren, to give them Fox for ever, and to promise them 
 a shilling or some bauble, by way of reward, in case 
 they performed the task to his satisfaction. Sam was 
 as disinterested in his friendship as he was firm and 
 independent in his principles. He was once re- 
 quested by a hackney coachman to procure him a 
 number for his coach ; Sam promised his best endea- 
 vours, and finding his application attended with suc- 
 cess, he presented the man with his number, who with 
 a grateful heart for this kindness to him offered Sam 
 two guineas, which, however, he would not ac- 
 cept, declaring he hated all bribery ; for, said he, 
 when I serve a friend 1 want no interest. The 
 coach was afterwards remarkable for a portrait of 
 Sam, sitting by a bowl of punch, &c. 
 
 Having several times observed a poor little child 
 wandering about the streets in his neighbourhood, 
 whose person and appearance indicated the extreme 
 pf want and misery, he asked the boy some questions
 
 30 SAM HOUSE. 
 
 relative to his family and where they lived, wliich 
 beini; s^atisfactorily answered, Sam enquired into 
 their character ; he found they were not only poor 
 hut iiiilohMit ami inattentive, so much so that the 
 chiUl was completely neglected and suffered to run 
 raijiied in the strt>ets, to beg or to starve as chances 
 might turn out. The boy, however, appeared to be 
 industriously inclined, and Sam took him under his 
 protection, clothed and fed him till he found a good 
 opportunity of putting him apprentice to a Mr. Webb) 
 locksmith, who lived opposite his own house. The 
 boy proved grateful by exhibiting unblemished con- 
 duct, and Sam congratulated himself that he had 
 lived to see it. 
 
 He was in the habit of taking in two or three news- 
 papers daily, for the amusement of his customers. If 
 however upon going into his tap-room in the morn- 
 ing, he discovered an indigent visitor reading the 
 paper, whom he conceived might be more advanta- 
 geously employed in attention to his business, he 
 would address him in his usual gross way, with 
 " D — n your eyes, what have you to do with news- 
 papers ; you had much better go home and go to 
 work, politics won't fill your belly." Those who 
 knew him, however, were not off'ended with this 
 blunt and impertinent reproof, but retired upon the 
 advice, and in such cases they were not unfrequently 
 rewarded by a present of part of Sam's dinner. 
 
 It is related of Sam, that at one time he ordered his 
 coffin to be made of wicker, (probably in imitation of 
 his old friend and bottle companion Mr. Thomas, 
 who lived at Hopwood's, near the King's Bench, 
 who for a long time made use of his coffin for a cor-
 
 SAM HOUSE. 31 
 
 ner cupboard, keeping it well stored with brandy, 
 rum, &c. intended to be drank at his disease :) the 
 men who were employed by Sam upon this occasion, 
 being desirous to make the job last till they got an- 
 other, lived freely at his expence, and were very- 
 backward in constructing the lid. Sam perceiving 
 what their intentions were, and growing impatient at 
 their delay, interrupted them one day while tliey were 
 carousing as usual, with " Get out of my house, you 
 resurrection rascals, I'll have no more of you ; and I'll 
 be d — d if you shall have me yet. Get out, I say ;" 
 then dragging the coffin from under his bed, and 
 cutting it to pieces, threw it on the fii'e. 
 
 His partiality and attachment to Mr. Fox was so 
 great, that soon after the overthrow of the Portland 
 administration on account of the East India Bill, 
 several persons assembled at his house one afternoon 
 on purpose to witness in what way Sam would be 
 affected by it ; but he soon discovered what spirit they 
 were of, and upon that discovery absolutely refused 
 to supply them with any more liquor; he was, how- 
 ever, cautious upon this occasion not to suffer his 
 warmth of temper to get the better of him, as he 
 knew that it would be more than likely to lead him 
 into rough usage, and therefore he sent in the nurse^ 
 who, with all the patriotic fire which animated Sam, 
 exclaimed, "Be off you dirty Pittites; pay your 
 reckoning and go about your business." 
 
 Sam also manifested his attachment to Keys, whom 
 he always called " his true and tried friend." About 
 a month before he died he sent for Major Labalier, 
 and also desired Keys to attend. At this meeting 
 he told Keys he should be miserable if he thought
 
 3'2 SAM HOUSE. 
 
 he would ever live to be in want, and begged of him 
 to accept of 20/. a year out of his estate ; Keys, how- 
 ever, tlianked him for his good intentions towards 
 him, but with a spirit of independence, equal (o that 
 of his friend Sam House, declined accepting this 
 offer, declaring his friendship Avas disinterested, and 
 that notliing should induce him to take that from 
 Sam's family, to which they undoubtedly had a 
 superior claim. 
 
 He caught a violent cold during the time of the 
 Westminster Election, which occasioned an inflam- 
 mation in his bowels, and was attended by Sir John 
 Elliott and Doctor Hall, as likewise by Mr. Wyatt 
 and Mr. Wright, Surgeons ; finding his situation 
 dangerous, Sir John Elliott informed Mr. Fox? 
 who went immediately to see him, and remained 
 for a considerable time by his bed-side in conver- 
 sation, a circumstance highly gratifying to Sa3I, who 
 after his departure, expressed great pleasure at 
 having seen his friend, the champion of freedom ; and 
 said that Mr. Fox had taken him by the hand, treated 
 him with great tenderness, and hoped he should see 
 him better when he called again. Poor Sam, how- 
 ever, never had that pleasure, for in about half an 
 hour after this visit, a visible change took place in 
 his disorder, and he entirely lost his speech ; in 
 six hours afterwards he expired in the fifty-ninth year 
 of his affe. 
 
 The death of Sam House Avas soon spread abroad, 
 and from his known eccentricity, people of all de- 
 scriptions, and considerable numbers went to see his 
 corpse; it was intended at first to limit this privilege 
 only to his particular friends ; the crowds however,
 
 SAM HOUSE. 33 
 
 vvere so great on the following Monday, that they found 
 it necessary to throw open the doors for the admission 
 of all that came without distinction; and it is said, that 
 upwards of five hundred persons viewed the deadbody. 
 The interest excited, however, by his death was not 
 to be allayed even by the sight of his mortal remains, 
 for all were anxious to be present at his funeral ; the 
 day and hour being appointed, was almost as quickly 
 known ; and when that time arrived, which was to 
 consign those remains to the silent tomb, the streets 
 and lanes near Wardour-street were lined with a 
 motley assemblage of men, women, and children. 
 
 The procession was of a burlesque description, 
 little suited to the solemnity of the occasion, so that 
 the last act of his surviving friends, was as extraordi- 
 nary as his character and conduct through life had 
 been remarkable. — A drunken watchman of St. Ann's, 
 Soho, was engaged to personate the deceased in a 
 dress exactly similar to Sam's usual habit. In this 
 garb he joined the procession, which caused no little 
 controversy among the populace, some contending 
 that it was Sam himself, and others maintaining the 
 opposite opinion ; this man's folly, however, was 
 speedily punished, for being guilty of some irregulari- 
 ties during divine service, after the body was deposited 
 in the ground, the mob handled him very roughly ; 
 and forcing him into the hearse which conveyed the 
 remains of the person he represented, ordered the 
 coachman to drive him to the undertakers. 
 
 The procession moved slowly down Prince's-street, 
 the Ilaymarket, round Charing-cross, along the Strand, 
 and up Bedford-street, when it arrived at Covent- 
 garden ; to give additional solemnity to the scene, 
 
 F
 
 34 SAM HOUSE. 
 
 the procession went round the church to the north- 
 gate ; after the funeral ceremonies were performed, 
 the body was deposited in the church-yard of St. Paul, 
 by the side of his wife, who had died about two years 
 before him, and a former favourite ; this was in the 
 year 1787, or thereabouts. 
 
 The character of Sam was that of an eccentric, 
 but at the same time a well-intentioned, and good- 
 liearted man ; his political integrity could never be 
 shaken, and most of the animosities he entertained ; 
 were grounded upon political feelings. He was firm 
 and sincere in his friendships, honest and upright in 
 his dealings, but blunt and sometimes uncouth in his 
 manners ; open and free in his communications, but 
 careless and slovenly in his dress. The most repre- 
 hensible part of his conduct, was a habit which he 
 had contracted of swearing, which he did upon all 
 occasions, without respect to the parties, however 
 exalted, whom he addressed. His house was greatly 
 frequented by Hackney-coachmen, and it is believed 
 he once kept a Hackney-coach of his own ; since his 
 death his likeness has appeared on many coaches.
 
 CHARLES Mc. GHIE, or MACKEY. 
 
 (Embellished with a striking Likeness.) 
 
 " Fleecy locks and black complexion, 
 
 " Cannot forfeit nature's claims ; 
 " Skins may clifler, but affection 
 
 " Dwells in white and black the same. 
 
 "^ Think ye masters, iron-hearted, 
 
 " Lolling at your jovial boards, 
 " Think how many backs have smarted, 
 
 *■' For the sweets your cane aliords." 
 
 Cowper; 
 
 The miseries and misfortunes of individuals in a 
 country, the leading characteristic of whose inha- 
 bitants is benevolence, are seldom made known with- 
 out exciting- sympathy and relief; and perhaps under 
 existing circumstances, the subject of this memoir, 
 who has been deceived and defrauded, has suffered 
 slavery, and knows the relish of freedom ; has been 
 shipwrecked, bought, sold, lost, and engaged in a 
 variety of extraordinary adventures, to arrive in the 
 76th year of his life, at the dignified station of sweep- 
 ing the streets, may fairly be considered as worthy the 
 attention of the curious, and deserving the assist- 
 ance of those who have power as well as inclination 
 to do good. We do not make these remarks as ap- 
 plicable to the moral cliaracter or exemplary con- 
 duct of the individual, but rather upon the contem- 
 plation of indigent old ago, bereft of parental inhe-
 
 36 CIIAULE3 MACKEY. 
 
 litance by the arts of designing and evil-disposed 
 persons. 
 
 Charles Mc. Gnu:, or Mackey, (but we be- 
 lieve the latter,) a black man, who may be daily seen 
 at the corner of Bridge-street, Blackfriars, is a 
 native of Jamaica in the West Indies, and was 
 born on the 9th of March, 1744. His father, who 
 he thinks was a descendant either from a Scottish 
 or Spanish family, or probably partaking of both 
 by inlermarriages, had a small plantation of his 
 own, on which he cultivated cane, coffee, cotton, 
 &c. His mother was a native of the island, 
 both professing the catholic faith, and Charles 
 was one of nine children. He remained with his 
 father, working in the plantation, until he was 
 about eighteen, when he was induced, by the charms 
 of travelling and promises of good treatment, to 
 quit his paternal roof, and engage himself as ser- 
 vant to an Irish gentleman, whose name was John 
 Moor Sliaw, with whom he left Long Island, the 
 then residence of his father, and went to live at New 
 York; from whence he accompanied his master 
 through Virginia: but when they reached the Illi- 
 nois, Shaw sold him to a Colonel Bull for £S0. 
 With this officer he remained as servant for about 
 ten months, and he found him a good, kind master. 
 At the expiration of this time, his old master, Mr, 
 Shaw, enticed him by presents and promises to leave 
 Colonel F3ull and live with him again; now they 
 travelled fiom the Illinois to Virginia, and here, in 
 about ten days, it was the ill-fate of poor Charles 
 to find his sullerings commence; for his seducing 
 master again sold him for X^ 100 to a Mr. Thompson
 
 CHARLES MACKEY. 37 
 
 a tobacco planter, where he was treated with all the 
 vindictive severity that could be exercised. The 
 non-performance of his task, however beyond the 
 possibility of his power, or the most trifling deviation 
 from the sovereign will of his employer, subjected 
 him to be flogged in the most brutal manner ; he was 
 tied up to a tree, with the branches of which he was 
 sometimes flogged until feeling was almost extinct : 
 he continued, however, in this wretched employment 
 for six months, when finding a favourable oppor- 
 tunity for escape, he fled from the scene of his mise- 
 ries in the night, without money, and almost without 
 caring whither he should direct his course. As day- 
 light approached, he sheltered himself from observa- 
 tion by hiding in the woods or among the weeds, and 
 at night again pursued his course, begging the charity 
 of men of colour as he proceeded. The dangers of 
 his situation in the woods and wildernesses, frequently 
 surrounded as he was by venomous reptiles, serpents, 
 &c. were preferable, in his mind, to a residence with 
 such unfeeling animals as he had left, and their so- 
 ciety was more acceptable to him than that of his 
 fellow-man. By continuing these almost undirected 
 nightly rambles, he at length reached the brink of the 
 Potomac. Here he made his case known to a black 
 man in whom he thought he could confide, and was by 
 him directed to an Irish Gentleman who resided in the 
 neighbourhood, as a friend to the oppressed. The 
 honest Hibernian, with those feelings of humanity 
 and kindness for which the sons of Erin are so famed, 
 listened to his troubled tale, gave him a pass or cer- 
 tificate of freedom, for two dollars ; upon which he 
 shortly after engaged himself to a Mr. Runnells, 
 
 'nWj>
 
 S8 riiAnr.rs mackey. 
 
 a tlisliller, as ii labourer, at a dollar per week, liis 
 employment here was of a general naUire, but 
 principally in cutting wood for the fires in the 
 distillery, in driving the team, and attending the 
 horses ; in this situation he was comparatively happy ; 
 lie represents Mr. Runnells as a queer man, but 
 upon the whole, considers he was very fairly used, 
 yet he was not thoroughly content ; he, however, 
 continued for sixteen months, at tlie expiration of 
 which, he left this employer, and crossing the Poto- 
 mac, travelled to Maryland ; his hopes, however, of 
 bettering himself by this change were not realized — 
 he engaged himself to one Van Swanningham a con- 
 siderable planter of tobacco, with whom he worked as 
 a farming man for some months, but obtaining liberty 
 of absence one Saturday evening, he took the liberty 
 being a great admirer of that goddess, to indulge him- 
 self in the company of certain other goddesses of his 
 more close and intimate acquaintance, to prolong his 
 return till eight o'clock on the following Monday 
 morning ; on his arrival Swanningham was not at 
 home'; he came in however, in about an hour, armed 
 with a thick stick, and saluted Mackey with a violent 
 blow on the right side of the head, which laid him in- 
 stantly senseless on the floor, after which he jumped 
 upon and kicked him most unmercifully, so as to leave 
 him without any visible signs of life. The mark of 
 the blow on the head is still to be seen. Upon recovery 
 he found himself dreadfully bruised and bleeding on the 
 kitchen floor, where the brutal usage of this savage 
 in civilized form, had left him without the least com- 
 miseration or assistance. Mackey arose, and pro- 
 ceeded as well as he could to his business as usual ;
 
 CHARLES MACKEY. 39 
 
 but upon receiving his wages in about a mon'h after, 
 he ran away ; he now took his course towards Batti- 
 more, upon arrival at which place, he shipped him- 
 self on board a schooner called the General Williams, 
 Captain John Smith, bound to Richmond in Virginia, 
 at eight dollars per month, before tlie mast; he pro- 
 ceeded witii her to Richmond, where she took in a 
 cargo of Tabacco for Charleston ; duringthis voyage, 
 upon leaving Cranio Island about dusk in the evening, 
 they fell in with a most tremendous gale of wind, 
 which threatened them with destruction ; so much so, 
 that during the night, the gale continuing, they two 
 or three times had but little expectation of seeing the 
 light of the morning ; they were obliged to stave in 
 the heads of four rum punciieons, and sutler the 
 liquor to run over the decks, and mingle with the 
 ocean, clinging themselves for safety to any thing by 
 which tliey could hold, nor where they relieved from 
 their perilous situation till after six o'clock in the 
 morning ; from this period, however, they sailed with 
 safety and fair weather, (ill they arrived at Charles- 
 ton, here while discharging the cargo, the Captain 
 being a bad sort of a man, treated him with great 
 harshness and severity, and persuading people he 
 was a run-away ; had him confined in goal, where 
 he was loaded with heavy irons, with a chain from 
 leg to leg, to which was affixed a chain in the centre, 
 which compelled liim when he moved, to draw a heavy 
 log after him, here he was kept nine or ten days, when 
 he was taken before a Justice, to whom he shewed the 
 pass he had received on the banks of the Potomac, 
 which immediately procured him liberation as a free- 
 man. Upon returning to his sliip, from wliich he had
 
 40 CHARLES MACKEY. 
 
 not yet received liis pay, tlie Captain instead of 
 being- compelled by the Justice to make compensation 
 for false imprisonment, endeavoured to set up a 
 claim upon the sufferer for the expences he had been 
 at, which would have swallowed up all he had to 
 receive ; this, however, was resisted by Mackey who 
 applied to the Justice for redress ; the result was, 
 Captain Smith was compelled to pay him his wages, 
 and promise to treat him well during the next voyage, 
 as he had in fact not been at one penny of ex pence. 
 He was now treated pretty well for three or four days, 
 while taking in a cargo for Portsmouth in Virginia, 
 for which place they sailed, and Mackey, during the 
 voyage suffered much of the ill-treatment from the 
 Captain, who, atone time for some trivial circumstance 
 took up a large billet of wood, andgave him so violent 
 a blow on the side, as to lay him up for near a month 
 at Portsmouth ; he was discharged andobliged to pro- 
 cure a lodging, and being in a weak and sickly state 
 from the treatment he had experienced during the voy- 
 age, he sent to know if the Captain would pay his ex- 
 pences. The reply was — " No, I would rather see his 
 neck broke;" upon whichtheman with whom Mackey 
 resided, applied to a magistrate, who compelled the 
 Captain to pay. After remaining here about two 
 months, he shipped himself again on board the George 
 and Betsy, Captain White, then taking in a cargo for 
 Havre de Grace, for which place they sailed and ex- 
 perienced the most dreadful weather ; a white squall 
 was apprehended by the appearance of the sea and 
 the sky, and followed by a tremendous storm, accom- 
 panied with loud claps of thunder, and vivid flashes 
 of lightning ; during the continuance of this storm,
 
 CHARLES MACKEY. 41 
 
 Avhicli was of no short duration, every moment was 
 expected to be their last, none of the crew would 
 venture up aloft, but the Captain having- a slave 
 on board, forced him up ; he was, however, with 
 more rapidity swept into the sea, and swallowed by 
 the devouring waves. " Take the helm, a little for 
 God's sake," cried out the exhausted helmsman. 
 Mackey went to relieve him, and had scarcely got 
 the tiller in his hand, when his messmate who was 
 standing near him, was struck dead by the lightning. 
 They weathered the gale for about an hour after this, 
 when it came on a perfect calm — " Now my lads," 
 said the Captain, " what shall we do, we are two 
 hands short?" The natural reply was, " we will all 
 do the best we can ;" and with these intentions, they 
 continued their course, but in about twenty-four 
 hours after, came on a heavy sea with strong gales of 
 wind, in contending with which they lost another 
 hand ; they however, had the consolation of a schooner 
 in sight at no very gifbat distance ; the weather altered 
 towards morning, and they came up with the schooner, 
 the Captain of wliich lent them a man and a boy^ 
 with the assistance of whom in about a fortnight after, 
 they reached Havre de Grace in safety. While they 
 were discharging the cargo, the Captain whose dis- 
 position was soured by the loss of his slave and his 
 other hands, acted very tyrannically, sometimes 
 cruelly beating, kicking, and knocking the men about. 
 Mackey not relishing this treatment, ran away from 
 the Sisters, and joined the Betsy, Captain Randall, 
 for New York ; in her he sailed about the beginning 
 of August, and after being out ten or twelve days, a 
 storm arose which did not subside till after a very 
 
 G
 
 42 CHARLES MACKEY. 
 
 considerable injury had been sustained by poor Mac- 
 KEV. The rain fell in torrents, the rattling thunder 
 above, and the roaring of the ocean below, combined 
 with tremendous gales of wind, and occasional vivid 
 flashes of lightning, seemed as if the elements had 
 conspired together for the accomplishment of their 
 destruction ; as the storm died away, while Mackey 
 was complying with an order to let go the fore-sheet, 
 the fore-sail took all aback, and (as he believes) a 
 block gave him so severe a blow on the left eye, as 
 eventually to deprive him of that invaluable organ, 
 and otherwise dreadfully wound and bruise him ; he 
 was dashed senseless on the deck, and recollects 
 nothing more, till he found himself in this mangled 
 state in his hammock, to which he was confined up- 
 wards of three weeks, with only such application, 
 as were supplied by a scanty medicine chest, ad- 
 ministered with the slender professional skill of a 
 trading Captain ; about a week before their arrival 
 at New York, the eye-bail burst, and obliterated 
 all hope of recovery. At New York he was put 
 on shore, his wages honorably paid, and the captain 
 behaved to him upon this occasion, as he had upon all 
 others, in the most kind and handsome manner. He 
 now went to reside among his friends, under whose 
 assiduous and tender attentions, he remained about 
 eighteen months, during which time, his agonies were 
 so great, as to render it impossible for him to engage 
 in any employment ; finding himself by this time suf- 
 ficiently recovered, he entered into the service of a 
 Judge ; here he continued about twelve months, 
 liappy and comfortable. He was a kind and good- 
 hearted man, and he could have lived with him all his
 
 CHARLES MACKEY. 43 
 
 life ; but the Judge had a daughter, a lively and en- 
 gaging young woman, who rather gave way to her 
 immediate feelings, than to the exercise of discretion, 
 in guiding and directing her conduct ; this enticing 
 young female rather courted familiarity with Mac key, 
 then checked the presumptuous advances of her 
 father's servant. 
 
 " Love levels rank — lords down to cellars bears, 
 " And bids the brawny porter walk up stairs — 
 " Nought is for love too high, nor aught too low." 
 
 Mackey was young, and the impulses of nature 
 breaking down the barriers of reason and propriety, 
 led to consequences of a serious nature. — She proved 
 pregnant, but before her situation became visible, she 
 apprised Mackey of the circumstance, and recom- 
 mended flight to him as the only mode of avoiding the 
 punishment that tnust await him on discovery ; at the 
 same time exacting a promise that he would write to 
 her, as she should ever feel interested in his welfare ; 
 acting upon this salutary advice, he collected his 
 clothes, &c. together; and after an affectionate part- 
 ing with the partner of his frailty, he left the house 
 of his truly respectable niaster, and made the best of 
 his way to the Jersey's ; upon arrival at which, he 
 engaged himself with Mr. John Bullion, a former ; 
 during his stay in this service, he formed a connexion 
 with Rachall Van Este, to whom he was married ; 
 with her he lived agreeably and comfortably for ten 
 months, when it pleased the Almighty disposer of 
 events, to call his beloved partner to himself; she 
 died in child-birth before the delivery, and the otF- 
 spring of their connexion was obliged to be ex-
 
 44 CHARLES MACKEY. 
 
 tracted piecemeal; he wept this double loss, had 
 thetn decently buried, and left his employer, after 
 being uith him about fourteen months; now he 
 engajj^ed himself with Colonel Deare, jiist at the 
 commencement of the American War. With 
 Colonel Deare he travelled to New York, New 
 London, Bunker's Hill, and Long Island, at the 
 memorable battle of which the Colonel was taken pri- 
 soner, and about an hour afterwards Mackey fell into 
 the hands of the enemy also. Colonel Vanderbelt, 
 however, who commanded one of the regiments, knew 
 MackeYj and as he was a native of the island, he was 
 liberated upon a promise not again to engage in warfare. 
 The English army were at this time in want of wood- 
 choppers to go to Statton Island, and an offer was 
 made to him to go as one, which he accepted at eight 
 dollars a cord ; this was in the beginning of Decem- 
 ber, about thirty-two years ago. He went to Statton 
 Island in company with many others, engaging for 
 sixty cords, which at eight dollars a cord amounted 
 to a handsome sum. They were about thirty in num- 
 ber, the weather was intensely cold, the snow laid 
 deep on the ground, and they had raised a bank of 
 leaves to shelter themselves from the cutting blast, 
 behind which they usually retired to get their din- 
 ners. One day while they were preparing for this 
 repast, they were surprised by the appearance of the 
 crew of the Betsy, an American privateer, who burst- 
 ing upon them unawares, took the whole party pri- 
 soners. They were confined and carried to the jail 
 of New Brunswick in the Jerseys ; upon arrival at 
 which it was deemed injudicious to iron them, in con- 
 sequence of the severity of the weather, and each man
 
 CHARLES MACKEY. 45 
 
 was allowed a long and a thick billet of wood daily to 
 keep tliem warm ; he does not complain of the ge- 
 neral treatment here. In about four or five weeks, 
 the prisoners were overhauled with a view to dispose 
 of all the slaves by auction, and the day of sale was 
 appointed, but before its arrival they contrived to 
 effect their escape. The frost still continued, and 
 the ice of the river was so thick that they could walk 
 over it in safety. They now made the best of their 
 way back to Statton Island, where each man re- 
 ceived his arrear of wages; and they congratulated 
 themselves upon their fortunate escape. They were 
 now removed to another place, which was considered 
 to be more safe ; but this fancied security was not of 
 long duration, for in three weeks after they were re- 
 taken by the same party, and conveyed back again to 
 the same jail. 
 
 The weather was still intensely cold, and they suf- 
 fered much from its severity. They were now suf- 
 fered to remain at liberty during the day, but at 
 night were bolted down to the floors by their legs, 
 with their feet towards the fire, about twenty-six of 
 them in number, some having escaped the last capture. 
 Upon being taken before a magistrate, they were 
 asked if they would not rather work for the Ameri- 
 cans than the English ? to which they replied, 
 they would work where they could get best paid. 
 They were also asked if they would swear alle- 
 giance to the state ? this, however, they refused, 
 and were consequently sent back to their confinement. 
 One day while they were beguiling the solitary hours 
 of imprisonment, by throwing the dice and other 
 pastimes, a gentleman in an elegant uniform, came
 
 46 ClIAULCS MACKEV. 
 
 to the pii>oii, vequestiii'; of the turnkey to see some of 
 the prisoners, and inquiring when the intended auc- 
 tion of slaves was to take place ; among the rest he 
 particularly observed the subject of this memoir, and 
 asked him if he would like to live with him, pro- 
 mising to use him well if he proved faithful. Mackey 
 replied, that u ith good treatment he would do his best 
 (o deserve its continuance ; and thinking this a favoifr- 
 able opportunity to escape his present thraldom, find- 
 ing his name was Captain Du Grote, of whom he had 
 heard a good account from one vvlio had been in his 
 service, finally engaged with him. Captain Du Grote 
 purchased him for i? 100, took him to a neighbouring 
 tavern, ordered him refreshment, and gave him a dol- 
 lar, promising to send for him. In the afternoon a 
 boy was sent to convey him home ; he was now con- 
 ducted to Captain Du Grote's house, and clothed 
 from head to foot ; his employment was easy, and his 
 treatment not merely comfortable, but even liberal ; 
 *' and upon my soul," saidMACKEV, " had it not been 
 for the sake of freedom, I would not have parted 
 from this man during my life. I lived as he did, and 
 was used upon all occasions with kindness ; still my 
 mind was not at ease." He remained with him eight 
 months, during which time Du Grote's brother had 
 purchased a very fine horse, which Mackey knew 
 must have been stolen from Colonel Vautrieulle ; 
 and Du Grote had for some time been endeavouring 
 more firmly to bind Mackey to himself, to promote 
 a marriage with one of his mulatto slaves. This 
 circumstance Mackey turned admirably to his own 
 purpose of escaping ; being determined to take back 
 this horse, he contrived, by way of excuse, the
 
 CHARLES MACKEY, 47 
 
 more readily to account for his absence, to be 
 found one morning in the bed-room of this young 
 woman ; upon return from his work in the even- 
 ing, he consulted with her on the propriety of his 
 going to her parents in order to obtain their consent 
 to their union at Easter, in which she acquiesced, and 
 Mackey proposed to start in the morning. There 
 was, however, one grand obstacle in his way which 
 he was puzzled to get over — he had no money ; he, 
 however, at last liit upon the following expedient : — 
 during the night, he broke into the smoking house, 
 from whence he supplied himself with three hams and 
 a flitch of bacon, with these he pursued his way to the 
 house of his master's brother before day-light in the 
 morning; entered the stable and taking out the horse, 
 led him down the main road without interruption, till 
 he came to a wild cherry-tree, where he girted up the 
 saddle, and tying his plunder behind him, he mounted 
 his charger, and was just on the point of leaving the 
 spot when he was alarmed by the barking of a dog ; 
 he looked round but could see no one; it was then 
 about three o'clock in the morning, and thinking it 
 useless to remain intimidated by the dog, he sat off on 
 a gallop as hard as the horse could lay legs to the 
 ground, and was quickly out of sight of the house and 
 bearing of the dog. He continued his course till he 
 came to Amboye River, which he swam over, and 
 reached Statton Island, when he considered it highly 
 necessary to be cautious in hi? proceedings ; he dared 
 not go up the town for fear of the guards ; but when 
 he canie to the toll-house he found a person who 
 ottered to put him across a part of the river, where 
 he might, without fear of discovery, evade the vigi-
 
 48 CHAR Li:s MACKEY. 
 
 lance of the military ; having no money to offer by way 
 of remunerationjjie gave this man the flitch of bacon, 
 \\liicli tlie man conceiving too much for his services, 
 asked what he was to return, when Mackey told him, 
 nothing; the poor fellow seemed penetrated with gra- 
 titude, gave the bacon to his boy, desiring him to 
 take it home to his mother, and was so truly thank- 
 ful, that he squeezed Mackey heartily by the hand, 
 exclaiming, " May God Almighty bless you," and 
 then conveyed him in safety over the river. 
 
 Mackey, however, was still at a loss for the coun- 
 tersign, which he was soon asked for after landing. 
 In this dilemma he shewed the horse which was im- 
 mediately recognised, and answered all the purposes 
 of a regular passport. He now related all the cir- 
 cumstances that had occurred to him since his being 
 taken as one of the wood-cutters, and was strongly 
 advised to avoid the possibility of being taken again, 
 as in consequence of having committed a theft, he 
 Mould most certainly be hanged. He now went to 
 the Colonel, to whom he delivered up the horse, and 
 received one hundred dollars for his recovery, as he 
 was a favourite. After this, Mackey being well 
 supplied in the pocket, travelled to New York, where 
 he took it in his head to enter on board a privateer, 
 and shipped himself in the schooner Betsy, Captain 
 Thompson, belonging to a Mr. Cunningham. In this 
 vessel he sailed on a cruizing voyage off the Bahama 
 Islands ; and in less than three months they became 
 possessed of six valuable prizes, from which Mackey 
 received as his share about £100. 
 
 Upon his return from this voyage he found three 
 gun boats were fitting out, and was induced to join
 
 CHARLES MACKEY. 49 
 
 the Ceres, Captain Boardwine, with whom he cruised 
 from New York to Virginia Bay, all on the enemy's 
 side, pursuing a system of plunder, and making them- 
 selves masters of all that they could ; by this means, 
 and having the good fortune to avoid detection, they 
 had their vessels very handsomely stored with valua- 
 ble property, and every now and then despatched a 
 cargo home. By the time they had arrived at Rich- 
 mond, a plan was laid to proceed up to Petersburgh, 
 in order to plunder tlie houses of Colonel Vautrieuile 
 and Colonel Wood, two very rich men of James's 
 Island. Obliged by day to run up swamps, creeks, 
 and shady places, they hid themselves till night, and 
 then pursued their course till they found themselves 
 directly opposite the house of Colonel Vautrieuile. 
 The crew of the live boats mustered about sixty men : 
 they landed in the night, broke into the house, and 
 took away with them sufficient to load three boats as 
 full as they could hold, which they despatched imme- 
 diately to New York, and then continued their de- 
 predations, without interruption, all the way down 
 Richmond River, till they had tilled all their boats 
 and were well provided with every thing they could 
 want. It was their intention to have proceeded fur- 
 ther in order to have paid a visit to another very rich 
 man, but finding the bottom of the Ceres was foul, it 
 was deemed necessary to heave her down to clean 
 her; for this purpose they retired to a bye creek, 
 where they thought they should be able to remain in 
 safety, and commenced their labours; in the perform- 
 ance of wliich, however, they were one day surprised 
 to find themselves, as if by magic, surrounded 
 by five or six hundred of militia ; the appearance of 
 
 H
 
 50 CHARLES MACKEY. 
 
 this formidable military force against them was so sud- 
 den, that escape was impossible, and resistance, certain 
 death ; the consequence was, that the wholeparty, eigh- 
 teen in number, were taken prisoners, bound hand 
 and foot and sent to Baltimore Jail, where Mackey 
 remained from sometime in August until May, while 
 all those who were slaves, were sold in about a fort- 
 night after their arrival ; Mackey, however, again 
 escaped being sold by producing his pass, perhaps only 
 to be subjected to greater torment than he might have 
 endured by being transferred to a new master, for in 
 this jail they were frequently flogged in a very 
 cruel manner for the most trivial oftences. Under 
 this treatment, Captain Boardwine who was one that' 
 remained, was not likely to be satisfied ; nor did he 
 attempt to conceal his feelings on the subject. One 
 day he told Mackey he had a plan in view, to effect 
 their escape. " Very well," said Mackey, " let it 
 be put in execution quickly, for we can but die, and a 
 hasty death is better than a lingering life — " 
 
 a glorious death ■won by bravery. 
 
 Is beUer far than life, sigh'd in slavery. 
 
 Boardwine consequently sent for a plentiful supply 
 of rum, which was smuggled in at the window, as was 
 also a dozen of good bludgeons, about two feet and a 
 half long, which had been provided by the wife of an 
 old man who was a fellow-prisoner, and who used to 
 come daily to visit her husband ; thus prepared with 
 arms and ammunition, night was proposed for the at- 
 tack, and Death or Liberty was the word. "Stand firm 
 to me my boys," said Boardwine. "Liberty is before us, 
 another bumper and then," being now well primed for
 
 CHARLES MACKEY. 51 
 
 their enterprise, and finding all quite still, they broke 
 open the door of the room in which they were confined, 
 entered the bed-room of the jailer and his wife, whom 
 they gagged, and securely bound with ropes ; then 
 seizing the keys of the outer gates, sallied forth 
 from this abode of misery, and escaped. They shaped 
 their course from Baltimore in the best way they 
 could, towards the Brand wine river ; and in the speed 
 of their flight, travelled two and twenty miles before 
 daylight, when they conceived it necessary to keep 
 themselves out of sight ; having made the best use 
 they could of their efforts during the night, both by 
 begging and plundering, they were tolerably well sup- 
 plied with all they could want; they therefore retired 
 into the interior of a wood by the road side, where 
 they remained safely concealed, but not without dis- 
 covering during the day, that large hand-bills were 
 posted in the public roads, oftering a handsome re- 
 ward for their persons. The approach of night gave 
 the signal of advance to our fugitives, and they thus 
 pursued their way, travelling andplundering by night, 
 until they at length reached the Brandwine Ferry, 
 which is about one hundred miles from Baltimore 
 Jail ; here a new difficulty arose, for by attentive 
 listenings at night-fall, they found a strong party of 
 officers were placed on the spot for their detection ; 
 their case, however, was desperate ; to go back was 
 impossible, and hope almost withdrew her shadows 
 from their sight ; in this situation of suspense and 
 agitation, they kept from the view of the officers, and 
 laid themselves down behind a hedge, determined if 
 possible, to seize the first opportunity that might offer 
 a chance of success, and rather to sell their lives
 
 52 CHARLES MACKEY. 
 
 dearly if obstructed, then yield themselves up to 
 slavery or imprisonment. 
 
 The people on the beach staid late in expectation 
 of them, and they distinctly heard conversations in 
 A\hich they were mentioned, and of the confidence the 
 officers had of apprehending them in tjieir attempt at 
 tliis place. At length, however, the officers, &c., de- 
 termined to give up their watching for the night, and 
 retire to rest ; but, said one of them, be assured they 
 will be here by daylight in the morning ; certainly, 
 however, they cannot get away without our knowing it. 
 The boat was made fast by a strong iron chain locked 
 to a tree, and the oars were deposited under, and al- 
 most driven through the hedge, behind which they lay in 
 breathless anxiety. So near being discovered were they 
 by this proceeding, that one of the oars came within 
 a foot of MACKEY'shead ; this being done the officers 
 retired into the house, at a very short distance from 
 the shore, and all seemed silent ; they looked up at 
 the windows, and watched the extinction of tlie 
 candles, when they ventured to communicate together 
 on the best mode of proceeding. Delay was dan- 
 gerous, and they felt something like what is well 
 expressed by the immortal bard of the crook-backed 
 monarch, when he exclaimed, 
 
 " I am so far in blood, 
 
 " That sin will pluck on sin." 
 
 As " brevity is the soul of wit," so is promptitude 
 the very essence of business, and life or death was the 
 most important consideration at this time in their 
 minds. A favourable moment appeared to offer, and
 
 CHARLES MACKEY. 53 
 
 M.ACKEY was the first to venture forth by way of ex- 
 plorino- the coast. Finding all was clear, the greatest 
 difficulty they had to encounter, was to disengage 
 the boat, and more especially so to do it, as to avoid 
 noise ; in this extremity, what was to be done ? every 
 thought was thoroughly occupied ; they found a 
 waggon standing in the road leading to the ferry, from 
 which they took the iron hammer of the swivel tree, 
 and by their united efforts, at length accomplished this 
 grand object ; the chain was broken, and the boat 
 was set at liberty, having first secured the oars ; every 
 heart leaped with joy at the new prospects which now 
 opened before them. Life seemed to have a new 
 beginning; all remained quiet, and their proceedings 
 were wrapt in security by the darkness of the night. 
 Theyjumpt into the boat, and left the perilous shore to 
 tempt an equally perilous element ; mingled feelings 
 of agitation and delight, manifested themselves among 
 these midnight fugitives, nine in company. At tide 
 time they drifted up about half a mile, when the tide 
 turned, which it does with the surf; and they began 
 to ply their oars, continuing so to do till near day- 
 break, when they were driven upon a fishing-bank, 
 with such force as almost to stave the boat, here 
 they landed in safety, considering themselves beyond 
 the reach of pursuit, and launching the boat afresh, 
 left it to the guidance of the stream. 
 
 They now ascended an high hill, the top of which 
 presented to tlieir notice plenty of wheat, and fol- 
 lowed without knowing whither, the beaten track of a 
 footpath for a considerable way, but could see neither 
 man or house, nor indeed had they a desire for either, 
 but for the sake of sustenance and protection. Atlength,
 
 34: CHARLES MACKEV. 
 
 however, the cheerful prospect of a hut appeared in 
 sight ; upon this every heart was ehited, but it became 
 a question of policy, whether they should approach 
 and discover themselves or not; the result of delibera- 
 tion was, that it would be best to crave the assistance 
 of the owner, and brave the consequence of successor 
 rejection ; but, said one, who will knock at the door ? 
 Mackey was not backward in replying that he would, 
 and with this determination they all drew nigh, headed 
 by Charles, who gave a loud rap, which was answered 
 byanian on the inside, with " ty/io</are?" " A friend," 
 said Mackey, "can you give us a drink of water," upon 
 this the owner of the house opened the door, and seeing 
 the party, shook his head — " You do not want water, 
 I am sure," said he, "you seem as if you had been in 
 trouble;" the reply was, " No, we are travelling to Bal- 
 timore." "No, no," rejoined the other, looking stead- 
 fastly at them, " I think I can tell better than that, you 
 come from Baltimore, but never mind, don't be afraid, 
 come in." Upon this, they entered the house, and he 
 closed the door upon them. " Do you know," said 
 he, " that you are all advertised." To this no reply was 
 made, " but come," said he, " we will have some 
 breakfast; wife, prepare something for these hungry 
 travellers, for they must not stay here long." The 
 wife now went to work, and cooked them a hearty 
 meal, upon which they regaled themselves plentifully, 
 while the man supplied a large pail of fine cyder, of 
 which they also partook, though not without now and 
 then casting an eye of suspicion on their generous 
 host. This finished, " now," said he, " you cannot 
 get any rest here, but put yourselves under my guid- 
 ance, and I will convey you to a place of safety ; at
 
 CHARLES MACKEY. 55 
 
 night 1 will be with you again and shew you the way 
 to Philadelphia ; come along and don't be afraid." 
 They complied, and followed him out at the back- 
 door of the house, through some fields and down a 
 bye lane, where he shewed them a quarry of fifty or 
 sixty feet deep, at the bottom of which ran a beauti- 
 ful clear spring of water, "Hide yourselves," said 
 he, " in this pit till night, when 1 will return to you, 
 and then you may proceed." With this assurance on 
 liis part, and expressions of gratitude on their's, they 
 descended into the quarry, and the good old negro 
 returned to his home or to his labour. About mid-day 
 he visited them again, bringing with him enough to 
 supply a refreshing meal for each. In this situation 
 they remained till night was coming on, when he 
 again appeared. " Come," said he " the coast is 
 all clear, and my wife is preparing a bit of supper for 
 us before we go." Upon this summons they accom- 
 panied him home, where a good homely, but whole- 
 some meal was again placed before them, with plenty 
 of cyder; after partaking of this repast, he warned 
 them it was time for departure; when each of 
 our travellers, who was provided with a small 
 bundle of linen and a few dollars, from the wreck of 
 their former property, and the produce of their recent 
 travels were anxious to reward the kindness and 
 attention with which they had been treated, and 
 among them gave the old man some shirts, and the 
 old woman five or six dollars, which were gratefully 
 received, though not without assurances first given, 
 that they were not likely to be in want of those ar- 
 ticles themselves. 
 
 They left the roof of these well disposed people, 
 and headed by the old man, they pursued their jour-
 
 56 CHARLES MACKEY. 
 
 ney, uiulei* cover of the night, towards Philadelphia ; 
 as they walked along, they discovered that the old 
 man was really well acquainted with the circum- 
 stances of their situation, nor did they scruple to 
 narrate the extraordinary means by which they had 
 thus far eluded the vigilance of their pursuers, receiv- 
 ing in return his sincere congratulation. Beguiling 
 the time of the night and the distance of the road by 
 these means, neither seemed tedious, till a little be- 
 fore the peep of the morning. " Hark !" said the old 
 man, " did yon hear a cock crow ; that cock is crow- 
 ing in Philadelphia, we are now within a very short 
 distance of the town. Four of you must rest here 
 while I go forward with the other five." Acting un- 
 der this advice, five went with him to the house of a 
 friend just on the outskirts of the town, where they 
 were received with great kindness. He then returned 
 for the other four, and having thus far escorted them all 
 to a place of safety, the old man, after breakfast, left 
 them on his return home, loaded with the most heart- 
 felt benedictions of those whom he had so essentially 
 befriended. 
 
 They were entertained with great hospitality and 
 attention by their new host, who seemed almost to try 
 to outdo the effbrts of their former protector. Hear- 
 ing, however, that a schooner was to sail on the fol- 
 lowing day for New York, they all went onboard, 
 and without any further difficulty or obstruction were 
 safely landed there. At New York, after dividing 
 the produce of their former enterprizes with their 
 old companions, they separated, each going the 
 way in which his ftincy, inclination, or necessi- 
 ties might lead him. Charles Mackey remained 
 for some time, and then sailed in the Seven Sisters,
 
 CHARLES MACKEY. 57 
 
 Captain Smith, bound to Jamaica. During this voyage 
 be had the 'misfortune to be cast away near New Pro- 
 vidence, and the vessel, with all her cargo, went to the 
 bottom. The crew, however, were all saved, and picked 
 up bs.h-wrecker, which came from the shore in order 
 to make the most they could, by taking in any of the 
 floating cargo of the Seven Sisters. At New Provi- 
 dence he remained about four or five weeks, princi- 
 pally employing himself in assisting to recover the 
 lost vessel and cargo. After this he went on board 
 the Columbus Packet to work his passage to Scotland, 
 and arrived safely at Leith, where he was paid and 
 discharged; and it is now about twenty-eight years 
 ago since he left Scotland with intent to pursiie his 
 way to London on foot. During this journey, as he 
 approached York, being very tired and weary — but, 
 alas ! not with the weight of money in his pocket, or 
 a well stored wallet at his back, though not absolute- 
 ly in want, he applied at a public-house for a lodging, 
 but the house being full that night, no accommoda- 
 tion could be afforded him, and he was reluctantly 
 compelled to accept the offer of laying down by the 
 side of a hay-stack, at a little distance. Sumptuous 
 apartments or downy pillows were not so much the 
 objectof poor Charles, as shelter in case of rain ; how- 
 ever, as the weather appeared likely to continue fine, 
 he stretched his weary limbs on some of the hay, and 
 slept unmolested till the bright beams of the morning 
 sun glanced the light of day over the mountains, and 
 roused him from his slumbers; when looking around 
 him he saw an apparently labouring man carrying a 
 dead sheep upon his shoulders ; crossing the field he 
 watched him over the ditch, and from thence to a cot-
 
 58 CHARLES MACKEY. 
 
 ta<Te, which he saw him enter, keeping himself out o( 
 sioht. As soon as the public-house was opened, 
 Charles entered, and while waiting there to obtain 
 ^me refreslimcnt, a farmer came in who mentioned 
 the loss he had sustained during the ey lit of 
 one of his fattest ewes ; upon hearing which, 
 Mackey related what he had seen early in the 
 morning ; and in consequence he was requested not 
 to depart till some proceedings had taken place 
 relative to the detection of the oftender ; and the land- 
 lord was desired to furnish him with all he might want 
 during his stay. An officer was procured, and the 
 cottage searched almost without discovery, till one of 
 the officers observing a sort of trap-door on the floor 
 of the lower room ; he insisted (notwithstanding the re- 
 sistance of the woman and her children) upon search- 
 ing beneath it ; in this place was found the stolen 
 propertv, which was easily identified by a mark on 
 the head. In the mean time the perpetrator of the 
 theft having received information of what had oc- 
 curred, decamped. This was soon after the \ork 
 assizes, and as it was expected that the culprit would 
 be taken, in which case Charles's testimony would 
 have been important to conviction, he was allowed 
 five shillings per day as a remuneration for his deten- 
 tion ; and here he remained comfortably provided 
 till the man was taken, and the money due to Charles 
 amounted to about seven pounds, when one of his as- 
 sociates advised him to ask for his pay, and to alledge 
 as his reason for so doing his desire to provide him- 
 self with decent apparel, to make his appearance at 
 the assizes ; this succeeded, and he received the 
 whole amount.
 
 CHATILES MACKEY. 69 
 
 Going a few days afterwards towards York, he met 
 the wife and son of the prisoner, who implored and 
 conjured him not to give evidence against the husband 
 and father, as his evidence must inevitablv seal his 
 death-warrant. Mackey was unwilling to cause the 
 death of any one, but he was now awkwardly situated ; 
 the son said, he would convey him in the evening as 
 far as two horses could carry him; and as he was but 
 a poor labouring man, having but little to part with, 
 could only offer him five pounds. Mackey consented 
 to the proposal, and in the evening accompanied the 
 son upwards of sixty miles on the road to London, 
 where, upon separating, Charles received his five 
 pounds and took a post-chaise for two posts farther, 
 when conceiving himself beyond the reach of danger 
 from pursuit, he continued the rest of his journey on 
 foot ; at length he reached the metropolis, where 
 being perfectly unknown, he fully expected there was 
 little chance of his being discovered, if any such at- 
 tempt should be made. Very soon after his arrivnl, 
 however, listening to a person who was reading the 
 newspaper, he found he was advertised, with a full 
 description of his person, and an offer of twenty 
 pounds reward for his apprehension ; in consequence 
 of which, he found it necessary to seclude himself as 
 much as possible for a time. What little money he 
 had left was, however, soon exhausted, and he 
 shipped on board the Elizabeth for Granada ; 
 after an absence of nine months, he sailed again in 
 the Eloisa, and arrived in London about the spring 
 of the year 1782, when he lodged at a public-house 
 near the Iron Gate. The receipt of his pay for this
 
 60 CHARLE3 MACKEV. 
 
 vova^-e was not suflicient to maintain him long, tor he 
 vcrided tlie words of the old song which says, 
 
 " That sailors at sea earn their money like horses, 
 " To squander it idly like asses on shore !" 
 
 "NVilh empty pockets and a craving appetite, he 
 was still too proud to beg, though he occasionally 
 received the donations of a few who knew him, and 
 of some who would ask him about his present cir- 
 cumstances and his former adventures ; this life was 
 irksome to him, and at length he shipped himself on 
 board the New Providence, Captain Throgmorton, 
 bound to Demerara, from whom he experienced ex- 
 cellent treatment, and they had a fine voyage both out 
 and home. After this, he sailed as cook and butcher 
 on board the Dunmore, from which he was pressed, 
 and sent on board the Minerva, Captain Smith, with 
 whom he went to the East Indies, and was gone 
 six years. After this he sailed up the Straits, and 
 was in the engagement with Captain Collingwood, 
 on board the Excellent, 74, oflf Cape St. Vincent's, 
 in which he received a wound in the arm ; he was then 
 discharged at Liverpool, where he was again married 
 to his present wife, whose name was Elizabeth 
 Hagan, on the 22nd of June, 1805, and shortly 
 after returned to London. 
 
 Some time in the year 1810, he learned with great 
 pleasure that his relations in Jamaica had left him 
 a considerable sum of money, enough, as he says, to 
 have enabled him to keep his carriage, and live 
 like a gentleman. It does not however appear that 
 he ever became absolutely possessed of this pro- 
 perty, but that after exhausting some time in ob-
 
 CHARLES MACKEY. 61 
 
 talning the certificate of his birth, and to procure 
 other documents to prove his identity, as the person 
 who was entitled to claim ; three gentlemen called 
 upon him one day, and inducing- him to take his 
 papers with him, he accompanied them in a post- 
 chaise and four to Hendon ; they made him drink 
 to excess, kept him out two days, during which, 
 thej prevailed upon him to sign over his right and 
 title, and possessed themselves at the same time of 
 all his legal proofs, and he is at this moment in 
 possession of only £25. per annum, independent of 
 that which he considers his estate, his farm, and his 
 freehold — the crossing at the end of Bridge-street. 
 
 Maokey has never received any education, can 
 neither read nor write ; consequently possesses no- 
 thing but experimental information, and his age and 
 the vicissitudes of his eventful life, appear to have 
 impaired his memory.
 
 THE WITCH OF THE WOLD 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE WESTMORELAND RECLUSE. 
 
 As related by himself in a Manuscript, found after his decease. 
 
 -A melancholy man, 
 
 " He was the wonder of our wandering swains, 
 " Austere and lonely, cruel to himself, 
 " Did they report him." 
 
 HORNE 
 
 On a wild and dreary tract of country on the bor- 
 ders of Westmoreland, called a wold, which is in 
 some places a sort of hilly heath, in others a black 
 and marshy moor, there was a solitary cottage built 
 by a man who passed for a very odd person ; some 
 said he was a madman, others that he had committed 
 a murder, and others supposed him to be a spy — 
 though no place could be so ill calculated as that he 
 had chosen for the exercise of such a profession. 
 
 The peasantry of the neighbouring country had an 
 extreme dread of him ; for none knew how he lived, 
 and none had ever been admitted into his cottage, 
 where it was supposed he resided by himself. There 
 was a wood adjoining to the wold on the side next his 
 abode, and through part of it lay the road to a mar- 
 ket, at eight miles distance ; this wood, which had 
 formerly belonged to the large domain of an ancient
 
 THE WITCH OF THE WOLD. 63 
 
 family now gone todecay, had a very ill name. — A 
 human skeleton had been found in it, and some of the 
 most sagacious of the neighbouring countrymen had 
 hinted, that these remains were those of the person 
 whom the strange man had killed ; yet, in the paths 
 of this gloomy wood, and crossing the wold towards 
 it, late of a night as they returned from market, this 
 mysterious being was often met by the terrified rustics. 
 He passed them sometimes in silence, at other times 
 bade them a good-night in an hollow voice, which 
 they declared was not human. The dread he inspired 
 was at length such, that many of the people Avhose 
 business led them that wav, were used to cross a 
 dangerous ford rather than go through this wood, or 
 venture an evening meeting with " the Strange Man." 
 This continued for some years : attempts were made 
 by some of the farmers to get warrants against him to 
 take him up ; but as he was perfectly inoffensive, 
 never troubled himself with them, and never solicited 
 parish assistance, there was no justice who would 
 grant it — till at length a Aveak and arrogant man, who 
 loved to shew his power, issued one : but just as the 
 people who were to serve it reached the wold, a storm 
 arose so violent and unusual in its effects, that the 
 constable and his followers, convinced of the super- 
 natural power of" the Strange Man," fled in dismay, 
 and thought themselves fortunate that they were not 
 carried quite away in a whirlwind, which they doubted 
 not he had raised by magic, to defeat their purpose. 
 
 The empty and half-ruined manor-house, to which 
 the wood had formerly belonged, was also an object 
 of terror to those superstitious and ignorant people. 
 It had not been inhabited for many years ; but a
 
 64r THE WITCH OV THE WOLIJ. 
 
 ^rana^e or farm-yard adjoining to it was rented by a 
 farrnor, whose nicR declared that in those nights of 
 winter, when they had occasion to stay lale in these 
 buildings about the farm-yard, they saw lights gliding 
 about the old house, heard unaccountable noises — and 
 one even went so far as to relate that he saw by moon- 
 light a pale and ghastly face at one of the windows. 
 
 " They said that the house on the skirts of the wood, 
 " By a saucer-eyed Ghost was infested, 
 " Which filled every heart with confusion and fright, 
 " By assuming strange shapes in the dead of the night ; 
 " Shapes, monstrous and foul, and detested." 
 
 The man was frequently seen stealing about among 
 the ruins of the old buildings, and those who had 
 courage enough to gaze at him, even at a distance, 
 observed that he became more and more emaciated in 
 his appearance : sometimes he suddenly rushed out 
 of the wood, and passed across the path before some 
 afFrighled peasant. At length that part of the country 
 was almost entirely deserted ; the market people 
 made another way, to avoid the wold and the wood : 
 but such as had, after a time, courage to pass, de- 
 clared that the strange man was gone. — None now 
 saw him, and yet a little smoke sometimes ascended 
 from the chimney of the cottage. — Some persons, 
 whose curiosity got the better of their fears, took 
 occasion to peep in at the window, and said they 
 plainly distinguished an old woman of very frightful 
 appearance. An itinerant dealer in fish, who tra- 
 velled that country, was the only person that knew 
 who now resided in the cottage : he carried some pro- 
 visions thither once a week ; but the mystery he ob- 
 served, and the strange stories he invented, as if with
 
 THE WITCH OF THE WOLD. 65 
 
 a purpose to mislead curiosity, served only to irritate 
 the violent desire which some of the farmer's wives, 
 and other gossips had to find out who the person was 
 whom they now chose to call "the witch of the 
 
 WOLD." 
 
 It happened about this time thfit an infectious dis- 
 temper broke out in that country among- the cattle, 
 and several of the farmers were entirely ruined. — In- 
 stead of rationally considering the cause of this, and 
 of endeavouring to cure it by such remedies as comm on 
 sense pointed out, they took it into their heads that 
 the poorsolitary being whom they called" THE witch 
 OF the wold," had brought this calamity upon 
 them ; and without waiting for the interposition of 
 justice, they assembled in a body with pitchforks and 
 staves, and surrounded her house : she opened the 
 door to them, and they rushed in. 
 
 They found in this hut, which merely consisted of 
 two ground rooms, several things that confirmed their 
 opinion : there was a mariner's compass, a quadrant, 
 and some other mathematical instruments ; — several 
 books, in languages they could make nothing of, and 
 which they therefore concluded treated of the black 
 art. — There were some shells and dried plants and in- 
 sects, v»'hich they were sure were collected as materials 
 for the sorceress, and the only living animals were two 
 cats ; but every thing else was mere necessary furni- 
 ture, and not better than that which they themselves 
 possessed. The appearance of the old woman, how- 
 ever, would have been enough to have convicted her : 
 she was thin and pale, bent almost double, and her 
 countenance, furrowed with wrinkles, expressed a 
 sort of wild melancholy, which her persecutors believed
 
 C6 THE WITCH OF THE WOLD. 
 
 an evidence of guilt. — The poor creature submitted 
 almost without a remonstrance to their cruel usage; 
 and to their fierce interrogatories as to what was be- 
 come of the man who once lived in the cottage ? She 
 answered, that after having kept his bed many months, 
 he died ; and she had, according to his own desire, 
 buried him on the wold, near their hut. 
 
 She was then extremely ill-treated, and almost 
 tortured, because she refused to tell who he was. 
 She said that she had solemnly sworn never to reveal 
 it ; that they might kill her if they would, but that 
 nothins: she could sufler should induce her to disclose 
 a secret, which to know would be of no use to them, 
 while it would be breaking a promise she held sacred. 
 
 They accused her of having occasioned all the mis- 
 fortunes that had lately happened in their neighbour- 
 hood. One woman said, that her poor little Jacky's 
 fits had come upon him the very day after he had 
 passed over the wold, and that he had then received 
 a stroke from an evil eye ; another declared that her 
 only cow had grazed one day upon the wold, and had 
 sickened directly and died ; and a third, a labourer, 
 asserted, that at the time the lightning fired his 
 master's hay-stack, he had seen this very old woman 
 ride through the air on a broomstick. 
 
 Numberless other charges were brought against her, 
 and they were proceeding to tie her legs and arms 
 and throw her into the river, it being decided that if 
 she swam in that situation she was certainly a witch : 
 so that the poor creature undergoing such a discipline 
 had in no case a chance for her life ; for, if she was 
 thus convicted of witchcraft, she would be tortured to 
 death ; if she sunk, she would inevitably be drowned.
 
 THE WITCH OF THE WOLD. 67 
 
 But just as this misled multitude had dragged their 
 unresisting victim to the river's brink, a gentleman of 
 the country, as eminent for his intelligence as his 
 humanity, passed by ; and enquiring what was the 
 occasion of the riotous assemblage he saw, he inter- 
 fered immediately, and, being equally loved and 
 respected, rescued the poor old victim of popular 
 folly from the hands of her barbarous persecutors. 
 His charitable interposition, however, came too late : 
 though she was carried immediately to his house, put 
 to bed, and carefully attended, she had already suf- 
 fered too much from the rude inhumanity of the mob; 
 and in about three days she died, giving into the hands 
 of her generous protector the key of the drawer in 
 the cottage, where she told him he »vould find a 
 written account of her unfortunate companion, and 
 of herself. — It was only the authority of this gentle- 
 man that prevented the villagers from plundering the 
 hut ; where, as he had been directed, he found the 
 following paper : — 
 
 *' As this narrative will not be read till the hand 
 that writes it, till the heart that agonizes over it, are 
 mouldering in the dust; the wretched writer ventures 
 to relate his crimes and his sufferings ; trusting, that 
 his deep and sincere repentance, as It may have made 
 his peace with heaven, will mitigate against him the 
 indignation of mankind ; and that when he is shel- 
 tered in the grave his name may be repeated without 
 abhorrence. Yet were he not actuated by a latent 
 hope that his sad story may serve as a warning against 
 the indulgence of those fatal passions which have 
 overwhelmed him with shame, disgrace, and remorse, 
 he should willingly let the name of the wretch, and
 
 68 THE WITCH OF THE WOLD. 
 
 the remembrance of the evils he has occasioned, 
 perished in oblivion. 
 
 *' I was the eldest of the two sons of a gentleman 
 of ancient flunily, and of very considerable property, 
 whose ancestors had for some centuries inhabited the 
 large manor-house of Eddenham, on the borders of 
 Durthwaite wold, and our family name was taken 
 from that antique residence. 
 
 " My father, who had lost all his children by his 
 first wife, and who v/as far advanced in life before my 
 brother and myself were born of a second marriage, 
 doated upon us with the most extravagant fondness, 
 and denied us nothing: to this fatal and ill-judged in- 
 dulgence I owed my ruin, a ruin which involved in it 
 that of all my family. 
 
 " Though 1 expended, even during my being at 
 college, more than half the income of my father's es- 
 tates, he could not determine to check me in my wild 
 career, consoling himself under the greatest incon- 
 veniences, with thinking that I was a young man of 
 spirit, to whom some extraordinary indulgences were 
 necessary, and that when the hey-day of youth was 
 over, when 1 had sown my wild oats, I should become 
 more regulated in my conduct, and that all would be 
 well. My mother, who, though a good woman, was 
 yet vain and weak, encouraged rather than checked 
 these boundless indulgences. It was her pride, poor 
 woman ! to see her son, when he was at Eddenham, 
 make as great a figure as the noblemen in the neigh- 
 bourhood ; and she delighted to tell of the exploits I 
 performed in London, and the fashionable company I 
 kept. 
 
 " My brother, though almost as much indulged as
 
 THE WITCH OF THE WOLD. 69 
 
 1 was, happened to be of a different disposition. He 
 was fond of books and of retirement, and, at his own 
 desire, took orders at the proper age, my father having 
 purchased for him a very considerable living not far 
 from London. When I was three-and-twenty, I pre- 
 vailed on my father to let me make the tour of Europe. 
 He consented with reluctance, fearing he should not 
 live to see me again. However, at the end of two 
 years, which I passed on the continent, I returned, 
 and found him but little changed. My mother too 
 was living, and in good health, and they were both 
 made very happy by the birth of a grandson, my bro- 
 ther having married about eighteen months before ; 
 and he was with his wife and child now on a visit at 
 Eddenham. 
 
 " I had been in habits of seeing the most beautiful 
 women in Europe, but so lovely a creature as my 
 sister-in-law, it never was my chance before to behold. 
 I became distractedly in love with her, and was not 
 ashamed of meditating how I should steal her from 
 her husband, though that husband was my brother. 
 
 " At first, the magnificent presents I made her, and 
 my lavish flattery, were considered only as the effect 
 of my general admiration of beauty, and my affection 
 for my brother ; but my behaviour was such as soon 
 occasioned that excellent brother great uneasiness. 
 He remonstrated gently with his wife, who treated 
 him with contempt and disdain, resented his jealously, 
 and professed a determination to act as she pleased. 
 My father and mother at last began to notice some- 
 thing strange among us. But I had now obtained 
 such an ascendency over the mind of my sister-in-law, 
 that I cared very little for the murmurs or fears of
 
 70 THE WITCH OF THE WOLD. 
 
 the rest of my family ; and unrestrained by any sense 
 of honour, relii^ion, or humanity, and in defiance of 
 all the laws both of God and man, 1 prevailed upon 
 her to elope, and we arrived unperceived at Naples. 
 
 '' There 1 soon found that a beautiful outside had 
 concealed from me a disposition to every folly that de- 
 grades one sex, and a strong propensity to indulge in 
 every vice that debases the other : but it ill became 
 me to reproach her, of whose greatest fault I had 
 been the occasion. No man, however, who commits 
 a crime like that I had been guilty of, is long free 
 from the admonitions of conscience ; I endeavoured 
 to drown the remonstrances of mine in wine, and by 
 gaming and every other dissipation — but I was still 
 unhappy. Judge then, oh ! reader, what was my 
 situation, what a miserable, a deservedly miserable 
 wretch 1 beame, when I heard — (the very recollection 
 of my sensations still makes my hand tremble) when 
 1 heard — that my unhappy brother, unable to bear . 
 the loss of his wife, had perished by his own hand ! 
 that the infant boy, forsaken by both his parents, lin- 
 gered a little while, and then followed his father to 
 the grave ! and that my poor old parents, reproaching 
 themselves for having given birth to a monster like me, 
 had both died within a few days of each other, sur- 
 viving their son and grandson only about a month ! 
 
 *' Heart-struck, I fled with disgust and abhorrence 
 from the woman whose fatal beauty, and my ungovern- 
 able temper, had been the cause of these horrors. I 
 sent her a sum of money, told her we must never meet 
 again, and besought her to hide herself, her guilt, and 
 her sorrows, in a convent : — but instead of doing so, 
 she abandoned herself to such a course of life as soon
 
 THE WITCH OF THE WOLD. 71 
 
 destroyed her, and her death was added to the hideous 
 catalogue of my crimes. 
 
 " Pursued by distracting- remorse, which presented 
 all my murdered family before me, I fled from place to 
 place — but none afforded me any peace. Wretched as 
 I was, I thought a severer penance would alone relieve 
 me. I determined to punish myself with the view of 
 the spot where all my family had perished, the victims 
 of my unpardonable wickedness. I came then with 
 ray old female servant, who knew my deplorable story, 
 to the Wold. I should deservedly have been hunted 
 from my own house by the people of the country as a 
 wild beast. I therefore built a wretched shed ; and 
 it has for some years been my custom to visit once or 
 twice a day, and sometimes of a night, the house now 
 fallen into decay, where, but for me, my family might 
 now have been flourishing and happy ; where my fond 
 and venerable parents, whose grey hairs I sent in 
 sorrow to the grave, might have ended their lives in 
 peace and honour among their posterity ; where my 
 brother — oh ! dreadful and distracting remembrance ! 
 my mild-tempered, generous afl*ectionate brother, was 
 driven by me to despair and to suicide ! — Nightly, by 
 the light of the moon and stars, as I have traversed 
 these melancholy apartments, his bleeding ghost has 
 met me! Yes, my conscience has conjured up the 
 most frightful spectres! — but, with a gloomy and de- 
 termined resolution, I have sought rather than avoided 
 them. On the floor yet stained with my brother's 
 blood, I have lain whole nights, groaning in such 
 anguish of heart as guilt alone can inflict. Amid 
 the tempests of winter, in wet, in wind, in snow, I 
 have prostrated myself on the grave of him, of his
 
 72 THE MlTCIl OF THE WOLD. 
 
 child, and my poor fond mistaken parents. 1 have 
 prayed to the thunder to strike, to the lightning to 
 blast me, in vain — and often have I held to my throat 
 the weapon which should end my miserable life : — 
 but a powerful hand always seemed to check me; a 
 tremendous voice seemed to cry, Oh ! wretch, live, 
 live, that thou mayest suffer! 
 
 *' Let those who tremble at a description of my 
 horrible sufferings, learn early to combat those pas- 
 sions which maj' involve them in guilt and in misery 
 like mine."
 
 CHARLES PRICE, 
 
 THE NOTORIOUS IMPOSTOR. 
 
 " Since laws are made for every degree, 
 " To curb vice in others as well as in me, 
 " I wonder we han't better company 
 " Upon Tyburn tree." Gay. 
 
 The depredations of artful and designing men 
 upon the credulity of the honest and industrious, have 
 sometimes been carried to such a pitch, as almost to 
 exceed the conceptions of the most acute and discern- 
 ing ; and few men can have practised with more suc- 
 cess for a time, the grossest impositions on society 
 than the subject of our present memoir ; selected as it 
 is, with a view to exhibit man under the several forms 
 in which he actually presents himself to public notice, 
 varying and accommodating himself to the circum- 
 stances in which he may be placed ; he is scarcely ever 
 the same for any long period of duration. Charac- 
 ters, however, there are to be found in the community 
 who add to these traits of variation by their dissi- 
 mulation and hypocrisy. Such an one was Charles 
 Price, who on account of this circumstance attained 
 to a singular celebrity. 
 
 L
 
 74 CHARLES PRICE. 
 
 In selecting the life of this extraordinary impostor, 
 we may learn the progress of iniquity, teach the rising 
 generation to guard against its first approaches, and 
 warn our readers against those depredations which 
 are daily infesting society. Such examples of depra- 
 vity are indeed humiliating to our natures, but at the 
 same time they hold forth instructive lessons, and 
 consequently are well deserving of our serious con- 
 templation. 
 
 Charles Price was born about the jear 1730; 
 his father lived in Monmouth-strect, and carried on 
 the business of a dealer in old clothes ; here he died 
 in the year 1750, of a broken heart, occasioned (as it 
 is said) by the bad conduct of his children. 
 
 Charles began early to manifest those traits of 
 duplicity for which he afterwards became so greatly 
 distinguished : one remarkable instance deserves to be 
 mentioned as an example of juvenile hypocrisy scarce- 
 ly to be paralleled. He ripped off some gold lace 
 from a suit of old clothes which his father had bought, 
 and putting on his elder brother's coat, went to sell it 
 to a Jew. The Jew became a purchaser, and in the 
 way of trade most unfortunately afterwards offered it 
 to the father for sale. He instantly knew it, and in- 
 sisted on the Jew's informing him from whom he re- 
 ceived it. The boys coming in at the time, and the 
 Jew recollecting the coat of the elder, immediately 
 declared he was the person from whom he pur- 
 chased it ; in consequence of which he was directly 
 seized and severely flogged, notwithstanding his pro- 
 testations of innocence ; the father was inflexible, 
 while the conscious depredator, with an abominable
 
 CHARLES PRICE. 75 
 
 relish for hypocrisy, witnessed the suffering of his 
 brother, and inwardly rejoiced in the castigation. 
 
 By a continued series of tricks and knaveries, prac- 
 tised under the eye of the father, he at length grew 
 tired of his son, and placed him w ith a hosier in St. 
 James's-street. Here he continued hut for a short 
 tinne, indulging in all the vagaries of his prolific ima- 
 gination, and exercising himself in all the arts and 
 deceptions of which he eventually made himself mas- 
 ter. He robbed his father of an elegant suit of 
 clothes, in which having dressed himself he went in 
 that disguise to the hosier, and bought about ten 
 pounds worth of the most fashionable and expensive 
 silk stockings, desiring them to be sent home for him 
 in an hour, and assuming the name of Henry Boling- 
 broke, Esq. The cheat was successful, for his mas- 
 ter did not know him ; but this was not enough, for 
 in about half an hour after he appeared in the shop in 
 his usual dress, and was desired to take the goods 
 home which he actually pretended to do ; thus both his 
 father and master were robbed. He was, however, 
 soon discovered and dismissed. From this period we 
 shall have to consider him at large in society, where 
 he continued to practice the outrageous acts of dupli- 
 city for many years. 
 
 Soon after this he set o(F for Holland, under the 
 name of Johnson. Forg-ing: a recommendation to a 
 Dutch merchant he became his clerk, debauched his 
 daughter, and was offered her hand in marriage ; — 
 robbed his master, and returned to England. Upon 
 his arrival, he contrived to get himself engaged in his 
 Majesty's small beer brewery near Gosport. In this 
 situation he conducted himself so well as to gain the
 
 76 CHARLES PRICE. 
 
 confidence of his employer ; and was upon the point 
 of forming a matrimonial connexion with his daugh- 
 ter. This match, however, was prevented bv an ac- 
 cidental discovery ; the Jew, to whom he !md formerly 
 sold the gold lace, happened to reside at Portsmouth, 
 and by his means the character of Price was soon 
 disclosed ; his schemes frustrated, and he was again 
 thrown upon the world. 
 
 His wits, however, were not exhausted, nor did 
 they ever slumb(^r long, though always employed for 
 some deceptive end. He determined upon a trial to 
 establish a new brewery, by obtaining a partner with 
 money, and as a first step towards it, in the year 1775, 
 he issued the following curious advertisement : — 
 
 Wanted. 
 
 *' A partner of character, probity, and extensive 
 " acquaintance, upon a plan permanent and produc- 
 *^ tive. Fifty per cent, without risk, may be ob- 
 " tained. It is not necessary he should have any 
 " knowledge of the business, which the advertiser 
 " possesses in its fullest extent ; but he must possess 
 *' a capital of between five hundred and one thousand 
 " pounds to purchase materials, v/ith which, to the 
 " knowledge of the advertiser, a large fortune must 
 " be made in a very short time. Address to P. C, 
 " Cardigan Head, Charing Cross. 
 
 " P. S. None but principles, and those of liberal 
 " ideas, will be treated with." 
 
 By means of this advertisement, the famous Come- 
 dian Samuel Foote, was brought into the sphere of 
 our hero's depredation. Eager to seize what he con-
 
 CHARLES PRICE. 77 
 
 ceived to be a golden opportunity, he was induced to 
 advance £300 for a brewery. This sum did not last 
 long ; and instead of the rapid fortune which the ad- 
 vertiser appeared so certain of, Foote was glad to dis- 
 engage himself from the concern with the ios-; of his 
 capital, and retired wrung with the anguish of dis- 
 appointment. Notwithstanding which, Price had 
 the impudence not long afterwards to apply to him 
 again, under the idea of getting him to embark in the 
 baking trade; the wittyComedian,however, by this time 
 knew his Price, and archly replied, " As you have 
 brewed., so you may bake ; but I'll be cursed if ever 
 you bake as you have brewed^ 
 
 Price, after this unfortunate business, assumed a 
 new character and appeared as a methodist preaclier, 
 in which disguise he defrauded several persons of 
 large sums of money. He issued advertisements, 
 offering to procure gentlemen wives, and swindled a 
 person of the name of Wigmore of fifty guineas ; this 
 turned out more serious than he expected, for Mr. 
 Wigmore brought an indictment against him, but he 
 found means to re-fund a part of the money, and ef- 
 fected his escape. These and other fraudulent means 
 were long the objects of his ambition, though they 
 were all the certain roads to infamy. 
 
 Still undismayed in his career, he had the astonish- 
 ing impudence to set up again as a brewer, in Gray's 
 Inn-lane ; here, however, after committing a variety 
 of frauds, he became a bankrupt in the year 1776. 
 With ingenuity ever fruitful, he now set out tor Ger- 
 many, and engaged in a smuggling scheme, for which 
 he was thrown into a prison in Holland, after realising' 
 X'300. From this conlineraent he had address enough,
 
 «« 
 
 78 CHARLES PAICE. 
 
 by an artful defence to extricate himself, and imme- 
 diately returned to his native country. Here he again 
 engaged himself in a sham brewery at Lambeth, were 
 he was married; still continuing his depredations, till 
 at length he found it necessary to decamp ; — he actually 
 went to Copenhagen. After some time he came back 
 to England, where he was doomed to close his days. 
 
 His brewing attempts having all failed, he Avas 
 obliged to study some new mode of plundering society, 
 and under the pretence of charity he obtained money, 
 for which he was imprisoned, and having obtained 
 liberation, he in the character of a clergyman, suc- 
 ceeded in various depredations which eventually 
 brought him to the King's Bench, from the walls 
 of which he had dexterity enough to extricate 
 himself. 
 
 His next scheme was to try his success among the 
 schemers in the Lottery, and made his efforts answer 
 his purpose for a time ; but absconding with a ticket 
 of very considerable value, his attempts in this way 
 were brought to a termination ; indeed, his arts and 
 his tricks were so various, that to recount them all, 
 would extend our memoir of him beyond the limits of 
 a publication of this kind: Alas! for human de- 
 pravity. 
 
 We are now arrived at that period of our Hero's 
 life, when by connecting himself with the Bank of 
 England, he immortalised himself, by recording his 
 name on the lists of notoriety, as one of the most 
 artful, and for a time the most successful of impostors j 
 but the result was as might be expected, the loss of 
 his life, after practising a series of the most iniquitous 
 devices, that were ever brought to play upon man- 
 kind.
 
 CHARLES PRICE. 79 
 
 In the year 1780, memorable for the riots in 
 London, he assumed the name of Brant, and en- 
 gaged a plain, simple, honest fellow as a servant, 
 whom he converted into the instrument of passing 
 his forged notes, without detection. He advertised 
 for this servant, and conducted himself in a manner 
 truly curious towards him. Of the advertisement he 
 heard nothing for about a week. One evening, how- 
 ever, just about dusk, a coachman was heard en- 
 quiring for the man who had answered the advertise- 
 ment, saying, there was a gentleman over the way in 
 a coach who wanted to speak with him. On this, 
 the young fellow was called and went to the coach, 
 where he was desired to step in ; there he found an 
 apparently old man affecting the foreigner, seemingly 
 very much afflicted with the gout, as he was com- 
 pletely wrapped up in flannel about the legs, and 
 wore a camblet surtout, buttoned over his chin close 
 up to his mouth ; a large black patch over his left eye, 
 and almost every part of his face so hid, that the 
 young fellow could scarcely discover a feature, ex- 
 cept his nose, his right eye, and a part of that cheek. 
 The better to carry on this deception, Mr. Price took 
 care to place the young man on his left side, on 
 which the patch was, so that the old gentleman could 
 take a look askaunce at the young fellow with his 
 right eye, and by that means discover only a portion 
 of his face. In this disguise he appeared to be 
 between sixty and seventy years of age, and when 
 this man who he engaged saw him afterwards not 
 much under six feet high, his surprise and astonish- 
 ment were so great, that he could scarcely believe his 
 own senses ; and in addition to the deceptive dress in
 
 80 CIIAllLES PRICE. 
 
 which lie has been described, he sometimes wore boots 
 or shoes with heels very little less than three inches 
 hig;h, and appeared so bultoned up and straitened, as 
 to look quite lank. While we are thus remarking 
 upon the expedients to wliich he resorted, the better 
 to effect his diabolical purposes, it may not be ill- 
 timed to those who did not know him, to give a true 
 description of his person : he was in reality about five 
 feet six inches high, a compact neat made man, square 
 shouldered, inclined to corpulency, his legs were firm 
 and well set, but by nature his features gave him a 
 look of more age than really belonged to him, which, 
 at the time we are describing him was near upon 
 fifty ; his nose was aquiline, and his eyes small and 
 grey, his mouth stood very much inward, with very 
 thin lips, his chin pointed and prominent, with a pale 
 complexion; but what favoured in the greatest de- 
 gree his disguise of speech, was the loss of, his 
 teeth. His walk was exceedingly upright, and his 
 manner active ; in a word, he was something above 
 what the world in general would term a dapper 7nade 
 man. 
 
 The honest simplicity of the young man whom he 
 had thus duped into his service was such, that Mr. 
 Price found no difiiculty whatever, in negociating 
 through his hands his forged bills, which were princi- 
 pally disposed of in the purchase of lottery tickets and 
 shares, at the same time taking care never fully to 
 disclose to poor Samuel his real name, person, or his- 
 tory ; and it must be confessed his plan was devised 
 and executed with the utmost skill and ability. 
 Samuel, who continued for some time the innocent 
 and unsuspecting instrument of these nefarious
 
 CHARLES PRICE. 81 
 
 practice?, after passing bills to the amount of £1400, 
 ivas detected and taken into custody. Upon learning 
 this, Mr. Price retired with his booty into the shades 
 of the deepest obscurity, leaving poor Sana, who was 
 terrified out of his wits at a contemplation of the con- 
 sequences that might ensue from being an accomplice 
 in such complicated villainy, to suffer near a twelve- 
 month's imprisonment. 
 
 Price with a purse well lined, having sought refuge 
 in some lone place of retirement, washeard nothing of, 
 till the year 1782, when, having, in all probability, ex- 
 hausted his former acquisitions, he again sallied 
 forth in search of new game with the most unparalleled 
 audacity ; and as a first step to the accomplishment of 
 his purpose, he engaged a smart active lad of the 
 name of Power, from a Register Office. The father 
 of this lad was a Scots Presbyterian, and to ingratiate 
 himself with the old man, Mr. Price professed high 
 pretensions of religion, talked of virtue and morality, 
 expressing a hope that the boy was well acquainted 
 with the Lord's Praver and the Ten Commandments* 
 Having thus far succeeded, he now commenced his 
 ravages on the well-known Mr. Spilsbury of Soho- 
 square, ordering large quantities of his drops in the 
 name of Wilmot, and introduced himself to that gen- 
 tleman as possessing all the symptoms of age and in- 
 firmity. He was wrapped up in a large camblet great 
 coat, w ith a slouched hat on, the brim of which was 
 large, and bent downward on each side of his head ; 
 a piece of red flannel covered his chin, and came up 
 on each side of his face as high as his cheek bones j 
 he wore a large bush wig, and a pair of green specta- 
 cles on his nose ; his legs and feet were completely 
 
 * IVI
 
 82 . CHARLES PllICE. 
 
 enveloped in large wraps of ilannel, and a green 
 shade hung- down from his hat; but upon this occa- 
 sion he abandoned the black patch upon his eye, con- 
 sidering his features sufliciently disguised and ob- 
 scured ; and also, that it would not be safe to resort 
 to an old expedient. It is not a little remarkable 
 that Mr. Spilsbury, who knew Puice well, was not 
 able to detect his villainy in the character of Wilmot; 
 and it is a fact, that sitting together, side by side, in a 
 coffee-house, Mr. S. was complaining to his coffee- 
 house acquaintance, of the notes which Wilmot had 
 so artfully and successfully imposed upon ; Price 
 actually favoured his own deceptions by pretending 
 commiseration, frequently crying out, *' Lack-a-day, 
 good God ! — is it possible ! — who could conceive such 
 knavery to exist ! — but it is a wicked world, Sir. 
 What, and did the Bank refuse payment. Sir?" sta- 
 ring through his spectacles with as much seeming sur- 
 prise as an honest man would have done. " O yes," 
 said Mr. S., with some degree of acrimony ; " for you 
 must know it was upon the faith of the Bank of 
 England that I and a great many others have been 
 induced to take them, and they were so inimitably 
 well done, that the nicest judges could not have dis- 
 tinguished them ; but the old scoundrel will certainly 
 be detected." " Good God ! — lack-a-day !" conti- 
 nued Price, "he must have been an ingenious vil- 
 lain ; what a complete old rascal !" 
 
 Price had frequently been at the shop of a Mr. 
 Roberts, grocer in Oxford-street, where he now 
 and then bought a few articles, and took many op- 
 portunities of showing his importance. Upon one 
 occasion he called in a hackney-.coach, disguised as an
 
 CHARLES PRICE. 83 
 
 old man, and bought some few articles ; a day or two 
 afterwards he repeated his visit ; and on a third day, 
 when he knew Mr. Roberts was not in the way, went 
 again, with his face so painted that he appeared to be dis- 
 eased with the yellow jaundice. The shopman, to whom 
 he enumerated his complaints, kindly informed him 
 of a prescription for that disorder, by which his father 
 had been cured of it. Price gladly accepted of the 
 receipt, promising that if it succeeded he would call 
 again, and handsomely reward him for his civility. In 
 conformity with which, he entered the shop a few days af- 
 terwards, apparently perfectly free from the complaint, 
 and acknowledged his great obligations to the shop- 
 man ; after which, he expatiated freely of his affluent 
 circumstances, the short time he had to live, and the 
 few relations he had to leave his property to; he made 
 him a present of a ten pound Bank note. It will na- 
 turally be conceived this was a forgery, but it had the 
 desired effect with Price ; for at the same time he said 
 he wanted cash for another, which was a fifty pound 
 note. This the obliging and unsuspecting shop- 
 man got change for at an opposite neighbours. The 
 next day, during IVIr. Roberts's absence, he called 
 again, and entreated the lad to get small notes for 
 five other notes of fifty pounds each ; the lad, how- 
 ever, telling him his master was not at home. Price 
 begged he would take them to his master's bankers, 
 and there get them changed : this request was imme- 
 diately complied with. The bankers, Messrs. 
 Burchall and Co. complied with Mr. Roberts's sup- 
 posed request, inimediately changed them, and small 
 notes were that day given to Price for them. 
 
 Having found out a fit object to practise his decep-
 
 81 CHARLES PRICE. 
 
 tions upon, in the person of Mr. E who was an emi- 
 nent merchant in the city, and having; traced his con- 
 nexions to Amsterdam, even to the obtainini^ a letter 
 nhich was directed to him from a merchant there, he 
 commenced his attack on that gentleman in the fol- 
 lowing- manner : — lie accosted him on 'Change in 
 another disguised character, and told him that he had 
 received a letter from a correspondent of theirs at 
 Amsterdam, whose name he mentioned, informing him 
 that a Mr. Trevors, who frequented the 'Change, had 
 defrauded the Dutch merchant of £1000 ; that the 
 
 latter requested Mr. K 's assistance in the recovery 
 
 of the whole or any part of it he could obtain. With 
 this prelude he opened the letter and presented it to 
 
 Mr. E , who having read it, entertained no doubt of 
 
 its being the hand-writing of his Amsterdam corres- 
 pondent; he therefore readily offered his assistance in 
 any plan that might be pursued to favour Jus Dutch 
 friend. After thus paving the way, he began to ad- 
 vise Mr.E howtoact. "Trevors," said he, ''will 
 
 most likely be upon 'Change to-morrow ; he always 
 frequents the Dutch walk, and is dressed in a red sur- 
 tout, with a white wig ; he has also square-toed shoes, 
 and very small buckles. Your best way will be to 
 accost him, draw him into a conversation upon the 
 mercantile affairs of Amsterdam, and by pretending 
 he can be of service to you, invite him home to dinner 
 with you. You will then have a good opportunity to 
 mention the business ; shew him the letter, and in- 
 form him that unless he re-funds the whole or part of 
 the money immediately, you will expose the affair to 
 the merchants. By such a proceedure you may pro- 
 bably procure the greater part of the property, as he
 
 CHARLES PRICE. 85 
 
 is rich, and alwajs has ca?h about him, and will ra- 
 ther comply with your demand, than run the risk of 
 exposure." Mr. E highly approved of this pro- 
 posal, and was much pleased with the prospect he 
 appeared to have, of rendering such essential service 
 to his Dutch friend. The next day appeared our 
 hero on the Dutch walk, in the dress he had so mi- 
 nutely described. Mr. E followed the advice which 
 
 had been given him, and after a little conversation 
 invited the supposed Trevors to dine with him, which 
 was immediately accepted by Price. After the cloth 
 was removed, and the family had retired from table 
 
 Mr.E began to open to Mr. Trevors, with as much 
 
 delicacy as he could, the purpose of his invitation. 
 Our hero affected surprise at this application, but 
 acknowledged the charge in part ; assured him of his 
 intention to settle the whole account shortly, begged it 
 might not be mentioned on 'Change, and as a proof of 
 his intention, he was willing to pay ^^500 down, if Mr. 
 
 E would bury the matter in oblivion. This being 
 
 readily promised on Mr. E 's part, Mr. Trevors 
 
 produced a £1000 Bank note from his pocket-book, 
 
 which he said he would leave with Mr. E if he 
 
 would give him the difference. Not having suffi- 
 cient cash and notes in the house, Mr. E gave him 
 
 a check on his banker for the remaining £500, with 
 which our hero very soon after took his leave. The 
 
 next morning Mr. E discovered that [the £1000 
 
 note was a forgery, and ran to the bankers to stop the 
 payment of his draft, but unfortunately too late; for 
 a porter, who appeared to have been followed by a 
 tall old woman into the banking-house, had obtained
 
 86 CHARLES PRICE. 
 
 notes for the check, four hours before Mr. E 's 
 
 application to stop payment. 
 
 Upon a variety of others in a similar way did Mr. 
 Price exercise his deceptions; among the rest Mr. 
 Watt, hosier, and Mr. Reeves, a colourman, were 
 sufferers ; and such was his success that in one day he 
 negociated sixty ten pound notes, changed fourteen 
 fifty pound notes for seven one hundred pound notes ; 
 indeed such were his tricks at this period, that it is 
 scarcely possible to recount them. 
 
 The practices of evil-minded persons, who forget 
 that useful and comprehensive commandment — 
 " Do unto others as you would be done by," — 
 seldom lead to happy or truly fortunate results, nor 
 could it be expected to be the case with our present 
 subject ; he had assumed the character of an Irish 
 Linen factor, under the name o^ Paltoti, and employed 
 two young men to circulate his notes, whilst he still 
 kept himself greatly disguised, and in obscurity. The 
 notes were detected, and by means of a pawnbroker, 
 PniCE was with great difficulty at length discovered ; 
 upon being taken, however, he most solemnly declared 
 he was innocent, and when taken before the Magis- 
 trate, conducted himself with great insolence. This 
 took place on the 14th of January, 1786, and notwith- 
 standing his disguises he was soon sworn to by more 
 persons than one ; in consequence of which, and 
 finding there was no means of escape from his 
 present situation, he pretended to his wife in 
 particular, gxeat and serious penitence; for which, 
 however, there did not appear the least ground. 
 The Bank were fully determined on prosecuting
 
 CHARLES PRICE. 87 
 
 him, and there was little chance of his escaping an 
 ignominious death by the hands of the public exe- 
 cutioner ; but even this he managed to avoid, for one 
 evening he was found hanging against the post of his 
 door, in the apartment allotted him in Tothill-fields 
 Bridewell. Thus ridding the world of as great a 
 monster as ever disgraced a civilised society. 
 
 In this situation he was discovered by the keeper 
 of the prison, who cut him down quite dead, and 
 found in his bosom three letters ; in one of which 
 addressed to the Directors of tlie Bank, he confessed 
 every thing relative to the forgery, and the manner 
 of circulating the notes; another addressed to his 
 wife, was written in a most affecting style ; and in 
 the third, directed to the keeper, he thanked him for 
 the very humane treatment he had experienced du- 
 rins: his confinement. 
 
 A coroner's jury was summoned as usual in such 
 cases, and returned a verdict of self-murder ; in con- 
 sequence of which his body was thrown into the 
 ground in Tothill-fields, and a stake driven through 
 it. 
 
 In a box belonging to Price, were found after his 
 death, two artificial noses, very curiously executed in 
 imitation of nature. These, it is obvious he occasion- 
 ally wore as a part of the various disguise by which 
 he had been enabled so long to elude the hand of 
 justice. The counterfeit plates were found buried in 
 a field near Tottenham-court-road, the turf being 
 re-placed on the spot. His wife who had been con- 
 fined with him as a supposed accomplice, was dis- 
 charged after making full confession of all she knew 
 concerning his aftairs ; and the rolling press^ plates,
 
 88 CHARLES PHICE. 
 
 and otlier materials were destroyed by order of Sir 
 Sampson Wrii!;ht, the then presiding- magistrate. 
 
 It has been calculated that the depredations of this 
 artful villain on society, amounted to upwards of 
 jg'iOOjOOO ! and yet after his apprehension, he liad 
 the audacity to write a letter to a gentleman whom 
 he had defrauded of more than ^^2000,, recommending- 
 his wife and eight children to his protection. 
 
 Price's expenditure must have been great, or the 
 imprudence of his female coadjutor excessive ; for at 
 her lodgings were fixed all the apparatus for manu- 
 facturing the paper, and printing the Bank notes; the 
 plates for which were also engraved by this ingenious 
 culprit. Being thus paper-maker, engraver, printer, 
 and circulator, it is not altogether surprising that he 
 contrived to prolong his existence to the age of fifty- 
 five ; six years of which were passed in hostilities 
 against the Bank Directors, whose emoluments by 
 fire, shipwreck, and other casualties, Mr. Price 
 conceived were much too enormous. 
 
 It must appear extraordinary to the reader, that 
 this depraved impostor was so long able to escape 
 discovery. But it should be added, such was the in- 
 ventive ingenuity of his mind, that in order to avoid 
 detection, he took especial care, as well as by the 
 multifarious disguises of his person and voice, to study 
 the art of prevention, by combining the whole of the 
 proceedings necessary for the accomplishment of his 
 designs, within his own power ; seeing- clearly that if 
 he had permitted a partner in his concerns, he could 
 not have expected to remain so wholly unsuspected, 
 at least if not detected. He therefore became his own 
 engraver, made his own paper with the water marks.
 
 CHARLrS PRICE, 89 
 
 niid never suffered his ne<;ociator to know him ; nay, 
 Piich was the secrecy with which he carried on his 
 business, that Mrs. Price, his wife, had not the least 
 knowledge or suspicion of his proceedinos. Having- 
 by practice made himself master of engraving, he 
 made his own ink to prove his own works ; he then 
 purchased implements, and manufactured the water- 
 marks ; he then set about to counterfeit hand-wri- 
 tings, and in this he so far succeeded as to puzzle a 
 part of the first body of men in the world ; thus pro- 
 ving himself a most accomplished and wary adept in 
 the art of deception. The abilities of the unhappy 
 Ryland were exerted in his profession, and therefore 
 the imposition was less to be wondered at ; but in 
 Mr. Price we find a novice in the art, capable of 
 equal ingenuity in every department of the dangerous 
 undertaking, from the engraving down to the publi- 
 cation. 
 
 An attentive perusal of this narrative must awaken 
 in the breast of the reader a series of important and 
 useful reflections, calculated to leave impressions that 
 should excite a determination to resist every tempta- 
 tion that chance or opportunity may afford ; to indulge 
 in a vice that eventually led to the destruction of this 
 depraved man, who from his youth upwards appears 
 to have had no object in view, but that of preying 
 upon the credulity of his fellow-men, and an assu- 
 rance that 
 
 " Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, 
 As to be hated need? but to be seen." 
 
 That such talents should be appropriated to such a 
 use must be deeply regretted, but that any individual 
 
 * N
 
 90 CHARLES PRICE. 
 
 should thus throughout life, act the part of a wolf 
 among his fellow-creatures, deserves the utmost de- 
 testation. Society in ijeneral may also learn lessons 
 of caution and vigilance, from the contemplation of 
 the extraordinary character here described. Vice 
 appears in its most odious features, that of me- 
 ditated imposition upon the honest and industrious 
 partof the community : mark, however, its serpentine 
 progress, and its wretched termination. Price has 
 empltatically been termed the social monster, and it 
 is sincerely hoped, that a recital of his atrocities will 
 have the effect of guarding the younger classes of our 
 readers against the first inroads of deception. — 
 The Spartans used to teach young persons sobriety, 
 by placing before them a drunken man ; and it is 
 scarcely possible to point out an example that more 
 strongly verifies the assertion of a celebrated poet, 
 than that 
 
 " An honest man's the noblest work of God."
 
 FRANCES SCANAGATTI 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE FEMALE SOLDIER. 
 
 " Trained both to war, and wlien the war shall cease, 
 *' As fond as fit t'improve the arts of peace." 
 
 Elphinston. 
 
 Feats of courage and noble daring have not been 
 wholly confined to the male character, and in the ranks 
 of renown for extraordinary perseverance, in point 
 of literary attainments, in the closet, extraordinary 
 sufferings at sea, or glorious transactions in the field, 
 we are not without examples worthy of imitation in 
 the lives of some of the softer sex. That of our pre- 
 sent subject is selected as a proof of an early and in" 
 nate desire to emulate the bravery, and share the 
 honour which attaches to the character of a soldier. 
 Chance opened to her the path which her inclination 
 led her to pursue; and assuming the military garb, 
 she acquired for herself a considerable portion of dis- 
 tinction ; till at length, through the interference of 
 her parents, she was (though somewhat reluctantly,) 
 induced to appear in the domestic circles, and proved 
 herself no less a pattern of female merit, than she had 
 been of military conduct ; affording examples in 
 every situation of life, deserving of the highest com- 
 mendation.
 
 02 FRANCES SCANAGATTI. 
 
 Frances, the daughter of Joseph Scanagatti of 
 Milan, was born in that city and baptized at the 
 parish of St. Eusebius, on tlie 14th of Sept. 1781, and 
 (luring- her infancy made great progress iri the German 
 and Freiich languages, under the tuition of a Madame 
 Depuis, a native of Wrasbourg. This lady who had 
 in her youth belonged to the company of the Comedie 
 Francaise^ possessed considerable information, and en- 
 gaged her pupil to apply to study with pleasure ; by 
 the amusing means she employed of reciting, and 
 explaining sometimes in one and sometimes in another 
 language, such small pieces of comedy and romance, 
 as were within her reach, and obliging her to repeat 
 the same by degress. It is, therefore, not improbable 
 that in consequence of so many comic and romantic 
 ideas arising from these studies, this young lady in- 
 sensibly conceived a passion for the military profession, 
 and adopted the maxim, that women might run the 
 course of glory and science as well as man, if they 
 entered on it with equal advantages of instruction and 
 education. 
 
 About the time when she was ten years of age, she 
 was placed under the care of the Nuns of the Visita. 
 tion, an institution in high repute throughout Italy 
 for the education of young ladies; and here she con- 
 ducted herself so as to obtain and deserve the esteem 
 of friendship of the whole house, by her sweet, amiable, 
 and engaging disposition ; such were the representa- 
 tions made by the venerable and distinguished superior 
 Madame de Bayanne, who had an opportunity of 
 knowing her character, and watching her conduct. 
 
 At the latter end of the year 1794, Mr. Scanagatti 
 resolved to send his daughter to reside as a boarder
 
 I'RANCES SCANAGATTI. 93 
 
 with a widow lady at Vienna, in order to improve her 
 in the knowledge of the German language, and at 
 the same time to qualify her in the details of house- 
 keeping. On the journey from Milan, she was dressed 
 in boys' clothes, to avoid trouble and impertinence 
 and she was accompanied by one of her brothers, who 
 intended to stop at Newstadt to attend a course of 
 military studies in the Academy of that town, which 
 is esteemed the nursery of the best officers in the 
 Austrian army. The pupils to the number of four 
 hundred, principally officers' sons, are maintained and 
 educated by the Imperial court ; and besides the 
 military exercises, they are instructed in languages, 
 mathematics, and the belles lettres. 
 
 The brother of Frances who really had no realish 
 for that profession, for which he was intended, fell 
 sick during this journey, and acknowledged to his 
 sister, what he had not courage enough to avow to 
 ^ his father. She, upon learning his sentiments, strong- 
 ly urged him to return home with the servant, for the 
 re-establishment of his health, and having obtained 
 from him the recommendatory letter, with which he 
 had been furnished for M. Haller, Surgeon on the 
 staff of the Academy, and with whom he was to have 
 resided ; she actually had courage enough to introduce 
 herself under its sanction to the gentlemen as the 
 recommended boy, and as such received the kindest 
 w elcorae. It was not long before she had the good 
 fortune to gain the friendship of M. Haller, his wife, 
 and two lovely daughters, so as to be considered upon 
 all occasions as one of the family. Giving daily 
 proofs of an amiable character and a docile disposi- 
 tion, she obtained from tlie Court permission to
 
 94: FRANCES SCANAGATTI. 
 
 attend the lectures at the Academy, and so conspicu- 
 ously distinguished herself by her exemplary conduct 
 and her progress, that she bore away the principal 
 prizes in both the years 1795 and 179() that she re- 
 mained there. 
 
 At this Academy she perfected herself in the know- 
 ledge of German and French, and also acquired a 
 knowledge of the English language, under Mr. Plun- 
 ket, an Irish divine, one of the professors of the in- 
 stitution, who declares that he never had the smallest 
 suspicion of young Scanagatti being a girl, but con- 
 sidered her as a very mild and accouiplished boy, of 
 uncommon prudence. Here also she applied with the 
 greatest success to fencing and military tactics, as 
 well as to the various branches of the mathematics. 
 
 In the month of February, 1797, she resolved to 
 address the Supreme Council of War at Vienna to be 
 admitted an officer in the army, supporting her ap- 
 plication by the most honourable testimonies of con- 
 duct and talents, which the Academy could not refuse 
 her, and accompanying these with more eloquent 
 vouchers, namely, the prizes awarded her during the 
 two preceding yeai's. 
 
 The Supreme Council being at this time particu- 
 larly in want of good officers, to re^place the great 
 numbers who had fallen in the preceding campaigns, 
 readily appointed her to an ensigncy in the regiment 
 of St. George. 
 
 Her promotion being notified to her through the 
 channel of the Academy, she immediately set out for 
 Vienna, where she received orders to join a transport 
 of recruits in Hungary, and proceed with it to the 
 Upper Rhine, where the battalion lay to which she
 
 FRANCES SCANAGATTI. 95 
 
 was appointed. This battalion was composed of 
 Waradiners, and was commanded by Major Seitel. 
 It was stationed on the rio^ht bank of the Rhine, in 
 the neighbourhood of Kehl, and at the extreme out- 
 posts when she joined it ; but shortly afterwards it 
 was obliged to retire to the town of Manheim, the 
 enemy having passed the Rhine between Kilstett and 
 Diersheiin. 
 
 At length the peace of Campo Formio put an end 
 to the campaign, and Mademoiselle Scanagatti hav- 
 ing passed about sixteen months in different canton- 
 ments in the Empire, Silesia, and Stiria, received an 
 order to repair to Poland, to join the fourth battalion 
 of the regiment of Wenzcl Colloredo, then com- 
 manded by Major Deebor. 
 
 She was now stationed in the town of Sandomir ; 
 and here she experienced the most distressing inquie- 
 tudes, through the dread of her sex being discovered. 
 As she frequented the Cassino, where the most select 
 company associated, some of the ladies who assembled 
 there conceived doubts of her sex, either from her 
 figure or her reserved manners, and communicated 
 their suspicions. Accordingly one day a young gen- 
 tleman belonging to the town, said ingenuously to her, 
 " Do you know, Ensign, what these ladi s observe of 
 you?" She immediatly suspected where (he blow 
 was directed ; but, concealing her alarm, she ans- 
 wered, she should be glad to know in what respt'ci she 
 had attracted their notice. " Why," replied <he 
 gentleman, " they observe in you the appejiiaiic( and 
 manner of a lady." On this she fell a laiioinn:^, and, 
 with an arch and lively air, rejoined, " In mi- case, 
 Sir, as the decision of the question is competent to a
 
 96 FJIANCCS SCANAGATTl, 
 
 lady, I hcg leave to select your wife for my judge." 
 This proposal he did not think proper to accept, and, 
 wishing- to disengage himself, protested that he was 
 far from believing any such thing, and only hinted at 
 what the ladies, whom he named, had suspected. She 
 withdrew earlier than usual that day, and passed 
 rather an uneasy night. But, having fully meditated 
 on her situation, she resolved to bear herself through, 
 put on a good face, appear at the Cassino next day, 
 and there converse in the most ijallant and free man- 
 ner with the ladies, in order, if possbile, to remove 
 their suspicions. Accordingly, after the usual com- 
 pliments, she introduced the subject, and declared 
 that far from being offended, she was on the contrary 
 highly flattered, in hopes that the opinion they enter- 
 tained would render them less difficult to favour her 
 with such a verification as would enable them to pro- 
 nounce their judgment with greater certainty. This 
 produced the effect she wished ; the ladies, astonished 
 by this military air of frankness, immediately re- 
 tracted their opinion, saying, " You are too gallant, 
 Ensign, for us to presume doing you any farther the 
 injury of believing you a lady ;" and thus the matter 
 ended. 
 
 Some time after, having received orders to proceed 
 to Chelm, she had the good fortune to escape the pry- 
 ing looks of the fair sex there, who obliged her to use 
 uncommon circumspection. But she fell sick on the 
 road, and was under the necessity of stopping at 
 Lubin, the head-quarters of the battalion. On this 
 occasion she was under much obligation to Captain 
 Tauber, of the same regiment, who showed her un- 
 common marks of humanity, attention, and kindness,
 
 FRANCES SCANAGATTI. 97 
 
 in a oountry where she was quite unknown. Here 
 also she found it difficult to conceal her sex; tor, 
 being affected with a general debility, she was obliged 
 to commit herself in all her wants to the care of a sol- 
 dier who was her servant, but who, happily for her, 
 was a young man of such simplicity, that she ran no 
 risk from his penetration. 
 
 She had scarcely recovered, when, having received 
 notice that the Council of War had ordered her to be 
 removed to the regiment of Bannat, she reported herself 
 ready to join immediately ; and notwithstanding the 
 advice of her commander to delay her journey until 
 she had sufficiently recruited her strength, she persist- 
 ed in undertaking it, and arrived on the 6th of May, 
 1799, at Penezona, in the Bannat, where the staff 
 were stationed. 
 
 Some promotions were at this crisis taking place in 
 the regiment, and being one of the oldest ensigns, she 
 expected to be promoted to a lieutenancy, but was no 
 less surprised than hurt to find two younger ensigns 
 preferred over her head. Being certain of her ground, 
 in so far as to know that the conduct-list given in her 
 favour by the regiments in which she had before 
 served, had left not the smallest room for reproach ; 
 notwithstanding her mild and patient character, she 
 presented very sharp remonstrances, protesting that 
 she should be ashamed to continue to wear the uni- 
 form of the regiment if the injury done her was not 
 repaired. In answer to this remonstrance she re- 
 ceived a rescript of the 18th of July, which entirely 
 satisfied her ; the regiment declaring that the mistake 
 proceeded from not having known that Ensign Sca- 
 N AG ATT I had been transferred to it when the promo- 
 * t)
 
 98 FJRANCES SCANAGATTI. 
 
 lions were proposed, but that they would not fail to 
 take the first opportunity of doing- justice to his merit; 
 and, in fact, she obtained a lieutenancy, on tlie 1st of 
 Marcli following-. 
 
 She was now placed in (he battalion of reserve, 
 which generally remains inactive in cantonment, and 
 was then under the comnuind of Tjieutcnant-Colonel 
 Einsfeld. But anxious to share in the glory of the 
 campaign, she requested to be removed to one of the 
 battalions of the same regiment, which were then act- 
 ings against the enemy in Italy, and she was in conse- 
 quence appointed to the sixth, encamped on the moun- 
 tains to the east of Genoa, which she joined without 
 delay. 
 
 Whileencamped here with her battalion, commanded 
 by Major Paulich, w ith which sharp skirmishes and 
 actions more frequently took place than in any other 
 of the outposts. She fought under that officer parti- 
 cularly in two battles that took place on the 14th and 
 I5th of December, 1799, in the neighbourhood of 
 Scoffera, and at Torriglia, where she had the satisfac- 
 tion of being the first that entered the enemy's in- 
 trenched redoubts, which they were then forced to 
 abandon, but which they re-took next day, through 
 the superiority of force with which they renewed the 
 attack. 
 
 In this unfortunate affair, the brave Major Paulich 
 being severely wounded and made prisoner, with a 
 part of his battalion, the main body of the army in 
 that neighbourhood, under the command of General 
 Count Rlenau, was obliged immediately to retire. 
 Ensign Scan agatti was then directed to post himself 
 at Barba Gelata, with a small detachment, to cover
 
 FRANCES SCANAGATTI. 99 
 
 the retreat on that side ; and on the 25th of the same 
 month, received orders to join the battalion lyin<;- at 
 Campiano and Castelbardi, in the territory of the 
 Duke of Parma. 
 
 Captain Golubowisch, and after him Captain Kli- 
 unowich, succeeded to the command of the battalion, 
 which, about the end of February, 1800, was sent 
 into quarters at Leghorn. At this time Ensign Sca- 
 NAGATTi having been dispatched on the regimental 
 business to Venice, Mantua, and Milan, had the 
 satisfaction to re-visit her family in passing through 
 Cremona, of which town her father was then in- 
 tendant. 
 
 She remained at home a day and two nights. Her 
 
 mother during all that time never suffered her out of her 
 sight ; and having remarked in the morning that, when 
 dressed, she laced her chest very straitly, to efface 
 every exterior sign of her sex, and that so strong a 
 compression had already produced a certain degree of 
 mortification and some lividity in that part; Madame 
 Scanagatti communicated her fears to her husband? 
 that their child would soon fall a victim to a cancer, 
 if they delayed any longer to oblige her to quit the 
 service. 
 
 The father, from the moment the news reached 
 hira that his daughter had introduced herself to the 
 Academy as a boy, liad never ceased to importune 
 her to return to the avocations of her sex, but at the 
 same time carefully concealed this transaction of a 
 daughter of whom he received the most satisfactory 
 reports, and from whose spirit he had also to expect 
 some imprudent resolution if counteracted by violent 
 measures. He now seriously reflected on the most
 
 100 FRANCES SCANAGATTI. 
 
 efficient means to be employed to calm the uneasiness 
 of his u'ife, and, if possible, to draw his daughter from 
 her present pursuits, without irritating her feelings. 
 He renewed the attempt to engage her voluntary com- 
 pliance, strongly urging, among many other dangers 
 to which she was exposed, the discovery made by her 
 mother, and oflTering to accommodate her in his house 
 with every thing that could render her comfortablg 
 and happy. 
 
 This attempt was however fruitless. She replied 
 respectfully, that she would not fail to pay attention 
 to what her mother had remarked respecting her ; 
 nor would she hesitate a moment to fly to the bosom 
 of her family (always dear to her,) as soon as peace 
 should take place, and which could not be at a great 
 distance ; she however begged him to reflect, that she 
 should lose the little merit she had acquired in her 
 career were she to quit it at that crisis ; and concluded, 
 by assurances that he might make himself perfectly 
 easy on her account ; as, in the course of three years 
 and a half, she had been able to support her character 
 in a variety of critical situations. In this manner she 
 separated from her parents, and proceeded to execute 
 the remainder of her commissions. 
 
 In the meantime her father resolved to go to Milan, 
 and in this dilemma to be guided entirely by Count 
 Cocasteli, a nobleman who had much regard for him, 
 and who, being Commissary General of his Imperial 
 Majesty in Lombardy, and near the army of Italy, 
 could be of great service to him in an affair of such deli- 
 cacy. In consequence of his advice, and through the 
 medium of the Count, he addressed a memorial to 
 his Excellency Baron Melas, disclosing the story 
 of his daughter, and soliciting for her an honourable 
 discharge.
 
 FRANCES SCANAGATTI. 101 
 
 Frances in the mean time having executed her 
 commissions, while her father was, unknown to her 
 engaged in this scheme, returned to her regiment, 
 which she found at the outposts in the blockade of 
 Genoa, encamped on Monte-Becco, and near Monte- 
 Faccio. On the same day the latter place capitulated, 
 she received notice that the Commander-in-chief had 
 sent an order to the battalion of the same regiment 
 to permit Lieut. Scanagatti to join his family at 
 Milan. This grant, unsolicited by her, was equally 
 disagreeable and unexpected. She perceived im- 
 mediately that it must have come through her 
 parents; cruelly disappointed as she was, she consoled 
 herself that her sex was not discovered, but that she 
 was treated as an officer in the very order of the 
 Commander-in-Chief; and what confirmed her in 
 this flattering idea was, being the next day at dinner 
 with General Baron de Gottsheim, commanding the 
 division of the Imperial army in this neighbourhood, 
 she was always addressed by the title of Lieutenant? 
 and nothing occurred that gave her the smallest sus- 
 picion that her sex was known. 
 
 Indulging these reflections, she resolved on the 3rd 
 of June, 1800, to proceed on her journey towards her 
 paternal mansion; but on the 8th of the same month 
 having learnt at Bologna that the enemy had just 
 entered the Milanese, she thought it advisable to pro- 
 ceed to Verona, to which city the staff* of the Austrian 
 army was then removed. Upon arrival, there she ap- 
 plied for and obtained a new route for Venice, where 
 her father then was, and where she remained, tired of 
 an inactive life, till the peace of Luneville permitted 
 her to return with safety to her country. It was with no
 
 102 TRANCES SCANAGATTI. 
 
 piuull icgict she laid aside a uniforni obtained through 
 the most signal merit, and supported in an honourable 
 and exemplary manner. To attest the truth of the?c 
 particulars, and the well-merited opinion of her 
 •zealous and faithful services, the Commander-in- 
 Chief, General Baron Melas, in a rescript of the 
 23rd of May, 1801, announced to the supreme 
 Council of War, that on the llth of July, ISOO, 
 he had conferred her lieutenancy on her brother, 
 who was then a cadet in the regiment of Belgiojoso. 
 
 It is only necessary to add, that this adventurous 
 young lady, having resumed her sex in the bosom of 
 her family, is no less a pattern now of female merit, 
 than she formerly was of military conduct; fulfilling, 
 with unexampled sweetness and equanimity of 
 temper, the office of governess to her young sisters, 
 and otherwise assisting her venerable mother in the 
 management of her domestic concerns.
 
 JOHN CALAS; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE VICTIM OF INTOLERANCE. 
 
 Butchers j'ou have shed 
 
 The precious drops of life." 
 
 Grecian Daughter. 
 
 The dreadful fate of this truly unfortunate man 
 who was broken alive on the wheel for the supposed 
 murder of his son, excited at the time of its occur- 
 rence, great interest in Europe ; and having been re- 
 cently dramatised both in Paris and in London with 
 considerable success, we doubt not a relation of the 
 extraordinary circumstances which led to it, in which 
 religion, suicide, and parricide have been blended, 
 will be acceptable to our readers. It is not, how- 
 ever, our intention to detail the events of the life of 
 a man, whose death alone was perhaps the most re- 
 markable circumstance to which minute attention can 
 be directed. A more foul murder was never com- 
 mitted in the sacred name of justice, than that on the 
 unhappy Cai^as. Voltaire displayed his humanity 
 and his eloquence by his unceasing efforts to rescue 
 the memory of Galas from the foul name that had 
 been cast upon it, and to obtain justice for Iiis much 
 injured family: and from that celebrated writer's 
 Essay on Toleration, the following account is 
 abridged. 
 
 The tale is in itself so horrible, that it would be
 
 lOi JOHN CALAS. 
 
 tlilTicult to believe that such an outrage could have 
 been committed, and yet it is strictly true. 
 
 The murder of Galas, committed at Toulouse, by 
 the hand of justice, on the 9th of March, 1762, is one 
 of the most singular events which can be offered to 
 the attention of the present age, or of posterity. The 
 questions were, whether a father and mother had 
 strangled their own son to obtain the favour of God ? 
 " — a question originating with the fanatics of that day. 
 Whether a brother had strangled his brother, or a 
 friend his friend ? and whether the judges had the 
 guilt of having broken on the wheel an innocent fa- 
 ther, or of having saved a guilty mother, brother, and 
 friend? enquiries truly important, had there been any 
 reasonable ground for the suspicion of either. 
 
 John Galas, at the age of sixty-eight, had been 
 in the business of a merchant at Toulouse for forty 
 years, and was considered by all those who had lived 
 with him, or were acquainted with him, as a good 
 father, and an honest upright man. He and his wife 
 were protestants, and so were all his children, except 
 one, who had abjured heresy, and to whom he allowed 
 a small annuity. He was so far removed from the ab- 
 surd and detestable fanaticism which breaks all social 
 bonds, that he approved the conversion of his son Louis 
 Galas, and had for thirty years kept in his house, a 
 female servant who was a zealous catholic, and who 
 had brought up all his children. 
 
 Mark Anthony, one of the sons of John Galas, 
 was a man of letters. He was deemed a person of 
 restless, melancholy, and violent disposition. This 
 young man, not being able to manage or to succeed in 
 mercantile business, for which in truth he was not 
 qualified, and not being admitted as advocate or coun-
 
 JOHN CALAS. "" 105 
 
 €el, because a certificate of his being a catholic was 
 necessary, resolved to put an end to his life, and com- 
 municated hisde<siontoone of his friends. Hestrenoth- 
 ened his resolution by reading every thing that had 
 been written on suicide. 
 
 In short, having lost his monej one day at play, he 
 was determined, by that circumstance, to execute his 
 design. A friend of his, as well as of the family, 
 called Lavaisse, arrived from Bourdeaux in the 
 evening. He was a youth of the age of nineteen, re- 
 markable for the candour and sweetness of his 
 manners, and the son of a celebrated advocate at 
 Toulouse. He supped, by a kind of accident, at the 
 house of Galas. The father, the mother, Mark An- 
 thony the eldest, and Peter the second son, were of 
 the company. After supper they withdrew into a 
 little hall, and Mark Anthony disappeared. When 
 the young Lavaisse had taken his leave, and Peter 
 Galas was accompanying him down stairs, they found 
 Mark Anthony stripped to his shirt, and hanging at 
 the door of the warehouse. His clothes were folded 
 and laid on the counter; his shirt was but a little 
 discomposed ; his hair was carefully combed, and his 
 body had neither wounds nor bruises. 
 
 We shall not here repeat the details of what passed 
 on this occasion, given by the advocates ; we shall not 
 attempt to describe the grief and despair of the father 
 and mother, whose cries were heard through the 
 neighbourhood. Lavaisse and Peter Galas, in a state 
 little short of distraction, ran to bring surgeons and 
 officers of justice. 
 
 While they were acquitting themselves of this duty ; 
 while the father and mother were sobbing and 
 
 6 «
 
 lOG JOHN CALAS. 
 
 slieddiiifj tears from the bitterest grief, the people of 
 Toulouse crowded round the house. Some fanatic 
 among (he populace exclaimed, that John Galas had 
 hanged liis own son. That exclamation being re- 
 peated, was unanimously assented to in a moment. 
 It was added by some persons, that the deceased 
 young man was to have made his abjuration the fol- 
 lowing day, but that his family, assisted by the young 
 Lavaisse, had put him to death out of hatred to the 
 Catholic religion. This was admitted beyond doubt. 
 The whole city was persuaded, that it is a principle 
 of religion among protestants, that a father and 
 mother should assassinate their son, when he enter- 
 tained any thoughts of being converted. 
 
 When the minds of men are once set in motion, it 
 is not easy to stop them. It was supposed that the 
 protestants of Languedoc had assembled the prece- 
 ding evening ; that they had chosen, by a plurality of 
 voices, an executit)n of their sect; that the choice had 
 fallen on young Lavaisse ; that the young man, in 
 four-and-twenty hours, had received the news of his 
 election, and had travelled from Bordeaux, to aid 
 John Galas, his wife, and his son Peter, to murder a 
 friend, a son, and a brother. 
 
 Sieur David, sheriff of Toulouse, roused by these 
 rumours, and wishing to have the merit of a prompt 
 execution, instituted a process contrary to the rules 
 and laws observed on such occasions. The family 
 of Galas, Lavaisse, and the catholic servant, were put 
 in irons. 
 
 A monitory letter enjoining those who knew any 
 thing of this affair to reveal it, and which was no less 
 iniquitous than the process, was published. They 
 went further— Mark Anthony Galas died a Galvinist ;
 
 JOHN CALAS. 107 
 
 and if he had put an end to his own life, his body 
 should have been dragged through the streets; but he 
 was buried with the greatest pomp in the church of 
 St. Etienne, though the curate protested against it as 
 the greateKt profanation. The order of White Bro- 
 thers celebrated a solemn service at the interment of 
 Mark Anthony Galas, as if he had died a martyr. 
 No festival sacred to a real martyr was ever observed 
 with with more solemnity ; but the pomp of it was 
 terrible ; they p-laced on a magnificent scaffold a ske- 
 leton, which they could cause to move, that repre- 
 sented Mark Anthony Galas holding a palm in one 
 hand, and in the other a pen, with which he was to 
 have signed his abjuration of heresy, but which, 
 in effect, wrote the death-warrant of his unhappy 
 father. 
 
 There was but one step further to be taken with 
 the poor youth who had put an end to his life, and that 
 was canonization. The people considered him as a 
 saint ; some invoked, some prayed at his shrine ; 
 othefs requested miracles, and others related those 
 which he performed. A monk drew out some of his 
 teeth, in order to be in possession of durable relics. 
 A devotee, who had been deaf, said he had heard the 
 sound of the bells ; and a priest, who had received a 
 stroke of an apoplexy, was cured on taking only an 
 emetic. They prepared narratives of these miracles. 
 The author of tliis account has an attested case of a 
 young man who lost the use of his understanding by 
 remaining whole nights in prayer on the tomb of tliis 
 new saint, and not obtaining any of the miracles which 
 he implored. 
 
 Thirteen judges assembled every day to try the
 
 ]0S JOHN CALAS. 
 
 cause. There was no proof of guilt ; indeed, there 
 could be none against the family of Calas ; but false 
 religion furnished what would serve as such. Six 
 judges insisted Inng and violently, that John Calas, 
 his son Peterj and young Lavaisse, should be broken 
 on the wheel, and that the wife of Galas should be 
 burnt. The other seven, something more moderate, 
 wished to have the affair examined into. This occa- 
 sioned long and repeated debates. One of the judges 
 convinced of the innocence of the accused, and even 
 of the impossibility of their having committed the 
 crime, spoke warmly in their favour ; he opposed the 
 zeal of humanity to that of cruelty. He became the 
 public advocate of the family of Galas throughout 
 Toulouse, where the constant clamour of false reli- 
 gion required the blood of those unfortunate persons. 
 Another of the judges, remarkable for his violence, 
 was provoked by their being defended, and used more 
 zeal and industry in inflaming the city against them. 
 In short, this contest grew so warm, that both the 
 judges were obliged to decline their attendance on 
 business, and to retire into the country. 
 
 But, unfortunately, the judge most favourable to 
 Galas, had the delicacy to persist in his absence? 
 and the other returned to give his voice against per- 
 sons whom it had not been decent for him to sit in 
 judgment upon. His voice was fatal to the pretended 
 criminal, who was condemned by eight against five ; 
 one out of the six judges, favourable at the com- 
 mencement, after long persuasion, being brought over 
 to the more severe and cruel party. 
 
 The judges who were resolved on the punishment
 
 JOHN CALAS. 109 
 
 of John Cala?, endeavoured to persuade the others, 
 that the feeble old man would not be able to sustain 
 the torments inflicted on him ; and that, under the 
 hands of the executioner, he would confess his crime, 
 and that of his accomplices. They were confounded 
 when the old man dying on the wheel appealed to 
 God as the witness of his innocence, and prayed that 
 he would pardon his judges. 
 
 They were obliged to issue a second decree, which 
 contradicted the first, and by which th6 mother, her 
 son Peter, young Lavaisse, and tlie servant, were to 
 be enlarged. But, being told that the one discre- 
 dited the other, that they condemned themselves, that 
 all the accused had been together during the whole 
 time in which the murder was supposed to have been 
 committed, they discharged the surviving prisoners, 
 and thereby plainly proved the innocence of the fa- 
 ther who had been executed. To preserve some ap- 
 pearance of consistency, they banished Peter CalaS. 
 
 They began by menacing Peter Calas in his dun- 
 geon, by treating him as his father had been treated, 
 in order to induce him to change his religion. This 
 is what the young man has attested upon oath. His 
 words were, — " A Dominican came into my dungeon, 
 and said I should undergo the same kind of death as 
 ray father, if I did not abjure my religion. This I 
 attest before God. July 23, 1762." 
 
 As Peter Calas was leaving Toulouse, he met a 
 zealous abbe, who obliged him to return into the city. 
 He was shut up in a convent of Dominicans, and 
 forced to go thougii the several ceremonies and du- 
 ties enjoined by the Catholic religion. This seemed
 
 ] 10 JOHN CALAS. 
 
 to be an equivalent to the blood of the father, and re- 
 lio^ion appeared satisfied, when it thought itself am- 
 ply revenged. 
 
 The daughters were taken away from the mother 
 and placed in a convent. This unhappy woman, who 
 had lately pressed in her arms the breathless corpse 
 of her eldest son, while, as it were, sprinkled with 
 the blood of her murdered husband, saw her other 
 son banished, was deprived of her daughters, stripped 
 of her good^, and left alone in the world, without 
 bread, without hope, and sinking under the weight of 
 her miseries. Some persons, who had attentively 
 examined the circumstances of this horrible affair, 
 were so struck with their iniquity, that they advised 
 the widow Galas to quit the place, and 'to demand 
 justice at the very foot of the throne. At this time 
 she was so reduced, as to have but few and short in- 
 tervals from fainting ; besides, being a native of 
 England, and brought over to that part of France 
 very young, the very thought of Paris alarmed her. 
 She imagined, that the cruelty and barbarity which 
 influenced the magistrates of Toulouse, must be more 
 dreadful in those who governed the capital. At last, 
 however, the duty of doing justice to the memory of 
 her husband prevailed over her weakness. She ar- 
 rived at Paris almost expiring under her wretched- 
 ness, and was astonished at the reception she had, 
 and the tenderness with which she was countenanced 
 and supported. At Paris, reason prevails over 
 fanaticism, though it be extremely powerful in the 
 province, fanaticism has always prevailed over reason. 
 M. de Beaumont, a celebrated advocate of the par- 
 liament of Paris, immediately undertook her cause,
 
 JOHN CALAS. - ]n 
 
 and stated an opinion on it, which was signed by 
 fifteen advocates. M. Loiseau, a man no less eloquent 
 than M. de Beaumont, wrote a memorial in favour 
 of the family ; and M. Mariette, advocate of the 
 council, drew up a petition on the principles of law 
 and justice, which struck the minds of all men with 
 conviction. 
 
 Those generous defenders of innocence and of the 
 laws, gave up to the widow all the profits arising 
 from the several editions of their memorials, petitions, 
 &c. Paris, and even Europe, was moved with com- 
 passion, and joined this unfortunate woman in demand- 
 ing justice. Judgment was given by the public in 
 her favour long before the decree was signed by the 
 council. 
 
 Compassion forced its way even to the minister; 
 in spite of the continual torrent of affairs which often 
 exclude it, andagainst the habit of seeing the unhappy, 
 which has still a greater effect in hardening the heart. 
 The daughters were restored to the mother ; and they 
 were seen dressed in crape, and bathed in tears, to 
 draw tears from their judges. 
 
 This family had still some enemies : for religion 
 was involved in their case. Several persons, who 
 are called in France devotees, said publicly, it was 
 much better that an old Calvinist, admitting that he 
 was innocent, should he broken on the wheel, than 
 that eight counsellors of Languedoc should submit to 
 the indignity of confessing they had been mistaken. 
 It was the cause of the whole magistracy, which con- 
 sisted of much greater numbers, and persons of 
 greater importance, than the family of Calas, which 
 ought to be sacrificed to the honour of magistracy.
 
 112 JOHN CALAS. 
 
 Thcv did not consider tliat the honour of a judge, 
 like that of any other man, consisted in repairing 
 the elTocts of his faults. The people of France 
 do not believe that the Pope, assisted by his cardinals, 
 is infallible ; it might be imagined, that eight judges 
 of Toulouse could never have been thought so. All 
 disinterested and sensible men said, that the edict at 
 Toulouse would be reprobated throughout Europe, 
 though particular considerations might prevent its 
 being repealed in the council. 
 
 On the 7th of March, 1763, the council of state 
 being assembled at Versailles, the ministers assisting, 
 and the chancellor presiding at it, M. de Crosne, 
 master of request, reported the affair of Galas, with 
 the impartiality of a judge, the precision of a man 
 perfectly informed, and with the simple and real 
 eloquence of a senatorial orator, which alone is suit- 
 able to such an assembly. In the gallery a prodigious 
 crawd of persons of all ranks waited with impatience 
 the decision of the council. In a short time, a mes- 
 sage was sent to the King, that it was the unanimous 
 opinion of the council, the parliament of Toulouse 
 should send up the minutes of their proceedings, and 
 the motivesof their judgment, Avhich had caused John 
 Calas to be broken alive on the wheel. His Majesty 
 approved of the decree of the council. 
 
 From the 7th of March, to the time in which the 
 definitive judgment was pronouced, two years elapsed ; 
 so easy is it for fanaticism to take away the life of an 
 innocent person, and so difficult for reason to obtain 
 justice to his memory. Those long delays it was 
 necessary to bear, because they were occasioned by 
 forms. The less those forms had been observed in
 
 JOHN CALAS. 113 
 
 the condemnation of Calas, they were to be the more 
 ri'j-orously attended to by the council of state. It 
 took up more than a year to compel the parliament 
 of Toulouse to send the minutes of their proceedings, 
 in order to be examined, and to be reported by the 
 council. M.«de Crosne was entrusted with that labo- 
 rious undertaking. An assembly of near eighty judges 
 reversed the decree of the parliament of Toulouse, 
 and ordered a revisal of the whole process. 
 
 The King committed the final decision to a tribunal, 
 called Lcs Requetes de V Hotel. This chamber was 
 composed of masters of requests, who sat on processes 
 between the officers of the court, and on causes which 
 the Kins: referred to their determination. A tribunal 
 could not have been fixed upon, better instructed in 
 this affair. It consisted of the same magistrates, who 
 had twice given judgment on the preliminary steps to 
 the revision, and who were perfectly acquainted with 
 the merits and forms of this business. 
 
 The widow of John Galas, her son, and young 
 Lavaisse, surrendered themselves, and were put in 
 prison ; the old catholic woman who had been the 
 servant of tlie family, and who would not quit it at a 
 time, when it was supposed she had murdered a child 
 and a brother; this poor creature was brought to 
 Paris from the centre of Languedoc. The court de- 
 liberated on the same evidence, which had served to 
 condemn John Galas to the wheel, and his son Peter 
 
 to exile. 
 
 In the meantime, persons of the first consideration 
 resorted in crowds to visit the widow Galas in prison, 
 where her daughters were shut up with her. They 
 ^vere affected even to tears. Humanity and generosity
 
 114 JOHN CALAS. 
 
 were lavish of their assistance. What is called charity 
 afibrdcd them none. Charity, which is so often nig- 
 gardly and insulting", is the virtue of devotees ; and 
 the devotees were inimical to the family of Galas. 
 
 Tlie day at last arrived, when innocence obtained a 
 full triumph. M. de, Baquancourt having reported 
 the procedure, and having stated the minutest circum- 
 stances of the affair, all the judges unanimously de- 
 clared the family innocent ; cruelly and wrongfully 
 condemned by the parliament of Toulouse. They 
 did justice to the memory of the father. They per- 
 mitted the family immediately to commence actions 
 against their judges, in order to be reimbursed their 
 expences, and obtain damages for their injuries, which 
 the magistrates of Toulouse ought to have offered 
 themselves. 
 
 This occasioned an universal joy in Paris ; people 
 crowded the public squares and walks ; they ran to 
 behold a family which had been so cruelly injured, 
 and so ably justified ; they cheered the judges as they 
 passed, and loaded them with benedictions. And to 
 render the spectacle still more affecting, it was the 
 0th of March, the same day of the month on which 
 John Calas perished by the most cruel punishment. 
 The judges of the court of requests had done com- 
 plete justice to the family of Calas; and in that they 
 liad only done their duty. There is a further duty, 
 that of benificence, rarely practised by tribunals, who 
 seem to think themselves instituted merely to be 
 equitable. The masters of the court of requests re- 
 solved to draw up a petition to his Majesty, in the 
 name of their whole body, praying he would repair, 
 by his bounty, the ruin of the family . The letter or
 
 JOHN CALAS. 115 
 
 petition was written. The King answered it, by 
 ordering thirty-six thousand livres to be paid to the 
 widow, who was to give three thousand to that 
 virtuous woman her servant, who had persisted in 
 defending the truth, by defending her master and 
 his family. 
 
 The intolerant spirit which so strongly manifested 
 itself in the case of Galas, and the subsequent de- 
 velopment of the whole affair, after the poor unfor- 
 tunate victim had suffered the most cruel torture and 
 death, are subjects which the human mind can hardly 
 contemplate without feelings of horror and dismay. 
 The unceasing humanity and eloquence of Voltaire 
 were excited to rescue his memory from the foul 
 stain cast upon it, and to obtain something like 
 amends to his ruined family, (if such could be possible,) 
 these are circumstances upon which we can dwell, if 
 we dismiss from our thoughts, that such necessity ever 
 existed; but, alas! that is not possible. The dread- 
 ful tale is too true, though it has long slept in oblivion.
 
 COUNT STRUENSEE; 
 
 OR 
 
 THE ROYAL FAVOURITE. 
 
 -" Oh how wretched 
 
 Is that poor man who hangs on Princes' favours ! 
 There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to, 
 That sweet aspect of Princes, and his ruin. 
 More pangs and fears than war or women have ; 
 And when he falls, he falls as I do, 
 Never to hope again." 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Courtly intrigues are at all times interesting, 
 though they frequently leave the reader as well as 
 the narrator to deplore their existence, while the 
 parties themselves who have been the chief figurants 
 in the scenes delineated, have perhaps had more 
 serious occasion to regret the indulgence of their 
 passions as leading to results of a disgraceful if not 
 of a disastrous nature. The circumstances of our own 
 times which have so recently occupied the public 
 mind, and which are still fresh in our recollection, 
 may fairly be adduced as a reason why the fate of 
 Struensee is particularly deserving of attention. 
 Without, however, attempting any allusion to the 
 similiarity of the cases, the life of this unfortunate 
 man affords a strong example of the consequences 
 that generally attend a deviation from the path of 
 right, and the dictates of morality, and if properly
 
 COUNT STRUENSEE. 117 
 
 applied, cannot fail to operate as a curb to the evil 
 propensities of our nature. 
 
 John Frederick, afterwards Count Struensee 
 was born at Halle, a considerable Town of Germany, 
 in the Duchy of Magdeburg, on the 5th of August, 
 1737. His father, Adam Struensee, (who by the fa- 
 vour of Frederick V. was advanced to the high post of 
 general superintendant to two duchies, a clerical rank 
 almost equal to a Bishop) was born at New Rippon, 
 educated at Brandenburgh, and studied at Halle and 
 Jena. In 1730, he was made chaplain to Count 
 Witgenstein, and he married the daughter of the 
 Count's Physician ; the fruit of that union was the 
 subject of our present memoir, and two younger 
 brothers. 
 
 The unfortunate John Frederick Struensee having 
 been brought up in the study and practice of me- 
 dicine, obtained an appointment as Physician to 
 the districts of Rantzan and Pinneberg; and in J768 
 was honoured by an appointment as Physician to 
 the Kuig of Denmark, an elevation from which we 
 may fairly date his ruin, and in 1769, was made Lee- 
 ture royale. It was in his capacity as physician, that 
 he attended Christian VII. in that expensive regal tour 
 which he made soon after the birth of his son, through 
 Holland, Great Britain, France, and Germany, 
 and in which Struensee perceived with unaffected 
 sorrow, the certain misery that the monarch was 
 drawing upon himself, by practices alike injurious both 
 to body and soul ; all iiis efforts and advice, however, 
 proved in vain, for the King without restraint, aban- 
 doned himself to those destructive habits, whose rapid 
 progress within a couple of years, left nothing but a
 
 lis COUNT STRUENSEE. 
 
 shattered and debilitated hulk, afflicted in the morning 
 of life with all the imbecility of body and mind, in- 
 cidental to extreme old age. 
 
 The following circumstance appears to have led to 
 the further elevation of Struensee: — One day while in 
 London, Count Holcke and Christian VII. went to a 
 well known public house not far from the Bank, whicli 
 was much frequented by Dutch and Swedish Cap- 
 tains. Here they listened to the conversation of 
 the company, which, as might be expected, was full 
 of astonishment and admiration at the splendid festivi- 
 ties daily given in honour of Christian VII. Count 
 Holcke, who spoke German in its purity, asked an old 
 Captain, who was sitting near him, what he thought of 
 his King, and if he were not proud of the honours paid 
 to him by the English. " I think," said the old man 
 dryly, " that with such counsellors as Count Holcke, if 
 he escapes destruction it will be a miracle." " Do you 
 know Count Holcke, my friend," said the disguised 
 courtier, " as you speak of him thus familiarly ?" 
 *' Only by report," replied the Dane ; " but every 
 person in Copenhagen pities the young Queen, attri- 
 buting the coolness which the King shewed towards 
 her, ere he set out on this voyage, to the malicious 
 advice of Holcke." The confusion of this minion 
 may be easier conceived than described, whilst the 
 King giving the skipper a handful of ducats, bade 
 him speak the truth and shame the devil. As soon 
 as the King spoke in Danish, the skipper knew him 
 and looking at him with love and reverence said, in 
 a low subdued tone of voice, " Forgive me. Sire, but 
 I cannot forbear my tears to see you exposed to the 
 temptations of this extensive and wicked metropolis, un-
 
 COUNT STRUENSEE. 119 
 
 der the pilotage of the most dissolute nobleman of Den- 
 mark ;" upon this he retired, bowing profoundly to 
 the King and casting at Count Holcke a look full of 
 defiance and reproach. Holcke's embarrassment was 
 considerably increased by this, and he was visibly 
 hurt, seeing the King in a manner countenanced the 
 rudeness of the skipper. 
 
 Upon returning to St. James's, where Christian 
 then resided, he told Struensee what the blunt 
 old Dane had said respecting Holcke, whose re- 
 ply was so ambiguous it might be construed or 
 explained more ways than one ; yet so obviously re- 
 flecting on the Count as a dangerous person to his 
 sovereign, that the King sincerely thanked him for 
 his hints, and said, " I think, Mr. Physician, 1 must 
 transfer your talents from the path you are now in, 
 and make you a counsellor of state," extending his 
 hand to Struensee, who bending his knee to the 
 ground, gracefully touched it with his lips, saying, "Ah, 
 my King, seeing as I do every day the treachery of 
 courtiers, and the slippery ground on which favourites 
 stand, wisdom warns me to shun the allurements of 
 ambition." This was the first step towards the fall 
 of Holcke, and the advancement of Dr. Struensee, 
 which followed soon after ; for on the 19th of May, 
 1770, he became Counsellor of Conference, and mat' 
 tre du requestes. Struensee now beheld with secret 
 rapture a brilliant path opening to his view, which 
 rapidly led him to the higliest pitch of fortune, and as 
 suddenly precipitated him to the lowest depth of de- 
 basement and misery, ending in t!ie loss of his life. 
 
 Struensee (whose appointment as physician in 
 ordinary to the King, had been materially promoted
 
 120 COUNT 3TRUENSEE. 
 
 by Count Raiitzan, at that time Governor of Gluck- 
 stadt) was a libertine and a freethinker; possessing 
 considerable talents, he became a great favourite 
 Avith this nobleman, whose morals were of the same 
 stamp, and who married his first cousin. The 
 motives for this advancement of Struensee's interest 
 by Rantzan have been differently construed. During 
 the King's tour while in Paris, his irregularities and 
 debaucheries led to more frequent personal interviews 
 between him and Struensee, who knew so well how 
 to manage them, that insensensibly, as it were, he ac- 
 quired not merely an influence, but such kind of au- 
 thority over the King, as a man might be supposed to 
 possess who is keeper of another's honour, a witness 
 of his secret vices, and a mild and elegant, but un- 
 fortunately a vain declaimer against them ; and 
 though the giddy and dissipated Prince took no 
 pains to improve his mind by the intercourse with 
 distinguished foreigners, for which his recent tour 
 had afforded such an excellent opportunity. Struensee 
 was not so remiss ; for whilst he revelled in vo- 
 luptuous pleasures, he dedicated a considerable por- 
 tion of his time to the acquirement of knowledge. 
 During this tour his manners, always insinuating 
 and pleasing, had acquired a polish and dignity be- 
 fore unknown ; even the giddy and dissolute Holcke 
 could not help perceiving it. Struensee was a deist 
 when a mere boy at Halle, and it may reasonably 
 be supposed that his intercourse at Paris with phi- 
 losophers and wits had not increased his reverence 
 for revealed religion. In fact, Struensee returned 
 to Denmark a corrupted atheist, and as refined a 
 sensualist as ever Paris produced.
 
 COUNT STRUENSEE. 121 
 
 The return of his soveieion to Denmark, with a 
 constitution deeply impaired by indulgence in every 
 species of vice and debauchery, accelerated the down- 
 fall of Struensee. Queen Matilda, who during the 
 absence of her royal husband, had more than propor- 
 tionably advanced in health, strength, and intellect, 
 (as the King had declined and degenerated,) was des- 
 tined to meet him at a moment when his whole sys- 
 tem was tainted. Like the slus; that draws its slime 
 over the blushing nectarine, he defiled his youthful 
 bride ; the poison spreading through her healthful 
 veins soon displayed its baneful inlluence. To whom- 
 soever she had applied of all the medical men in Den- 
 mark, Struensee was certainly the man whom she 
 should have most avoided. 
 
 Through the interference of Madame Gohler, an 
 interview that decided the fate of Matilda and 
 Struensee, took place at the King's hunting lodge 
 at Travendahl. On this occasion Struensee had 
 adorned his person with more than usual care, and 
 he formed a striking contrast to his royal master-. 
 Struensee was full five feet ten inches in height, 
 and very robust ; his complexion fair ; his eyes blue ; 
 his hair was flaxen, rather inclined to yellow, and hung 
 luxuriantly on his shoulders; ahigh forehead; promi- 
 nent nose; well formed mouth ; a good set of teeth. 
 His personal defects consisted in his appearance 
 being rather too heavy to be graceful ; his neck was 
 short, and he was a little knock-kneed. Struensee 
 at this time was in the prime of his life, the glow 
 of robust health tinged his florid cheeks and sparkled 
 in his fine blue eyes, indeed he was altogether a no- 
 ble looking fellow, whose physiognomy and manners 
 
 II
 
 122 COUNT STRUENSEE. 
 
 were calculated to make a deep impression on a young, 
 auiourous, neglected, insulted, and injured woman. 
 
 During this interview, which was in the presence 
 of Madame Gohler, a very interesting conversation 
 took place, in which Struonsee manifested the sin- 
 cerity of commiseration, with which he contemplated 
 the unhappy situation of his Queen, " You pity me, 
 Sir," said she ; " Madame Gohler has convinced me 
 how trulj' you are my friend, be then my counsellor 
 as well as my physician, and try if you cannot restore 
 my peace of mind as well as my health ;" after 
 some further conversation, Matilda, extending her 
 hand towards him, said, " Henceforth be thou my 
 Inight ;" which mark of condescension was received 
 with the utmost respect by Struensee. From this 
 period the intercourse between them grew more fre- 
 quent; her health was soon restored, and he who 
 was her physician at length became her lover. The 
 Queen was young, her passions at the flood, her feelings 
 strong, her wrongs numerous, and her judgment weak, 
 which must ever be the case ^vhere our passions are 
 permitted to get the better of our reason ; but if ever a 
 woman merited pardon for a frailty, it was the unhappy 
 and unfortunate Matilda. If she had been of more ma- 
 ture years, if her passions had been less violent, a pro- 
 per sense of her duty would have curbed resentful feel- 
 ings ; for it cannot be supposed but that the vast dis- 
 tance between their stations, and the solemn nature of his 
 duties, as physician to his sovereign and her husband, 
 must have restrained Struensee, annd kept him in awe, 
 however ardent were his passion or daring his am- 
 bition. Real modesty is certainly one of the sweetest 
 graces, as well as the strongest guards, of female
 
 COUNT STRUENSEE. 123 
 
 chastity. Perhaps in the palaces of Kings and 
 Princes this is not a thriving virtue, but from that 
 very circumstance, Matilda, even were she defi- 
 cient in that quality, is rather an object of com- 
 passion than censure; but there is no apology for 
 her lover ; with all his faults the King had been 
 to him a kind master. He ought to have apprized 
 the young and irritated Queen of the precipice she 
 was ascending, and the dangers which might beset 
 her. It must be confessed that Struensee was guilty 
 of the most heinous breach of faith that can be con- 
 ceived, and he had neither the levity of youth, nor the 
 want of a thorough knowledge of the world to plead 
 in his defence. 
 
 The King rapidly declined in health and spirits, the 
 amours of Matilda and Struensee began to be spread 
 abroad, and consequently his incapacity to guide the 
 helm of state was imputed to drugs alledged to be admi- 
 nistered by their orders, and to the coercion to which 
 he was subjected. From being quick and sensitive, 
 he grew dull, lethargic, sullen, and dreadfully fu- 
 rious when greatly irritated. In this situation Matilda 
 and Struensee seized the reinsof government, and kept 
 the King in a state of liberal confinement, though he 
 dined in public and accompanied his Queen to the field 
 sports of which she was very fond ; he also appeared 
 at the French and Italian operas, danced at their balls, 
 and took part in their card parties. During a visit 
 of the Court to the mansion of Count Rantzan, that 
 nobleman had an opportunity of observing the con- 
 duct of Struensee and the Queen, which convinced 
 himthathe had introduced an agent who would quickly 
 tower high above himself, and probably kick down
 
 \'2i COUNT STllUENSEE. 
 
 the ladder by which he had been raised. Ilia sus- 
 picions thus awakened, he watched the proceedings 
 of Struensee and the Queen, which confirmin*^ his 
 jealous fears to their fullest extent, soon eradicated 
 every spark of friendship for Struensee, and implanted 
 in their place those deadly feelings of hatred which 
 at no very distant day, led to the destruction of tlie 
 incautious pair. Before the departure of the Court, 
 Rantzan found an opportunity also to present the 
 King with an antique ring, assuring his Blajesty 
 that if he should ever be in danger, and would send 
 him that ring, he would instantly fly on the wings of 
 affection and loyalty to his aid ; he anticipated more 
 than all the sad results that flowed from the im- 
 prudence of Struensee and Matilda, but cautiously 
 concealing his thoughts and keeping his countenance 
 open, he eluded the suspicions of all about him. 
 
 In July, 1771, Struensee was created first Minis- 
 ter of the Crown, with the title of Count, and was 
 invested by the Queen with the order of Matilda ; 
 his rapid advancement became a subject of public 
 notoriety and surprise. He had apartments allotted 
 him in the palace, and generally took his breakfast 
 and luncheon in the Queen's apartment, sometimes in 
 his own room, but not often. The King was always 
 served in his own apartment ; from Struensee's 
 bed-room, which was nearly under that of the Queen? 
 there was a concealed staircase in direct communi- 
 cation. 
 
 The acquisition of state honours rendered Struensee 
 haughty, proud, and imperious, which Count Rantzan 
 endeavoured to subdue without effect ; of the nature 
 of his connexion with the Queen he was not at a loss
 
 COUNT STRUFNSEE. J25 
 
 to guess, and he was pretty well informed as to the 
 treatment of the King, for whose life he was under 
 the most serious apprehension ; a report was raised of 
 Struensee's combining with Count Brandt to murder 
 the king, upon whicli Count Rantzan expostulated 
 with him as far as he judged it was prudent, and 
 commenced a correspondence with Brandt, sufficiently 
 indicating his suspicions. Struensee had already 
 manifested his total want of personal courage ; so 
 much so that the want of that quality made the Queen 
 who was a heroine look on him with contempt; a 
 convincing proof that there can be no steady friend- 
 ship that has its foundation laid in vice. 
 
 The Queen Dowager, Juliana Maria, now began 
 to shew herself, under the hope of regaining her lost 
 power; and succeeded in gaining Rantzan as her 
 friend, under the idea of protecting the King against 
 the machinations of the ' Doctors Cabal,^ as 
 Struensee's partisans were ironically denominated. 
 Matilda and Struensee found themselves beset on 
 every side with the most pressing dangers ; their 
 frequent consultations usually terminated in hopes 
 that some favourable contingency might remove the 
 source oftheir apprehensions, but without being able to 
 adopt any decisive remedy in the midst of these accu- 
 mulated and accumulating difficulties. The ringwhich 
 Rantzan had presented to the King was returned to him 
 by Colonel Kohler Banner. '' The King has sent you 
 this," said he, "and claims the performance of your en- 
 gagement." Count Rantzan was in his heart, true and 
 loyal to the king ; and this occurrence accelerated the 
 blow, that levelled Struensee v/iththe dust ; rumours 
 of the ujost infamous kind were circulated every hour.
 
 I'if) COUNT STIIUENSEE. 
 
 tendiDir to implicate Queen Matilda and her Ministers, 
 particularly Sttuensee and Brandt. Rantzan in the 
 meantime was plotting their ruin ; his character for 
 courage and generosity, the splendour of his name, 
 and influence over the soldiery, determined the subal- 
 tern officers and troops to support an attempt, that 
 they were taught to believe was called for by the 
 situation of their captive monarch. The Count had 
 pledged his word of honour to the King, to hasten to 
 his aid ii: the hour of peril ; and his King had claimed 
 the performance of his engagement ; having, therefore, 
 excited the feelings of the military in his favour, he 
 determined to strike a desperate blow, and stand or 
 fall by the issue of it. 
 
 On the night of the 16th of January, 1772, a ball 
 and masquerade was given by the Court, at which 
 Matilda magnificently dressed, and full of spirits, 
 danced with Count Struensee, also with Prince Frede- 
 rick, and conversed with his black and treacherous- 
 hearted mother, who seemed more than usually civil 
 and attentive. Rantzan joined the party, but his 
 heart was ready to break as he looked at the Queen, 
 at Struensee, at Brandt, and reflected on the horrors 
 in which a few short hours must involve them. Tiie 
 ball was closed by the Queen and Prince Frederick. 
 Matilda attended by Struensee retired to her apart- 
 ments for the last time. It was evident Struensee 
 had gone to the Queen's room, for there his white 
 bear-skin cloak was found very shortly after. She 
 must have descended by the secret staircase to 
 Struensee's apartment, where this guilty pair had 
 there last tete-a-tcte, and separated never to meet 
 
 again.
 
 COUNT STRUENSEE. ^ 127 
 
 A young Norwegian valet, who was strongly at- 
 tached to Struensee, slept in an anti-room adjoining 
 his masters, and during this last interview between 
 the Count and his Queen, was laid down on a sofa 
 waiting to undress him. It may fairly be supposed 
 that at such a crisis, an intelligent young man as he 
 was, saw and heard enough to satisfy him that from 
 secret conspiracy or open insurrection, his master was 
 in the most imminent danger; and his anxieties were 
 so much aroused, that he dreamt he saw the execu- 
 tioner embracing Struensee, whose features bespoke 
 the extreme of horror and agony; then he thought 
 he saw the Queen Matilda, Struensee, Brandt, and 
 the principal persons attached to the Court, approach- 
 ing in a grand state barge, which in a moment ap- 
 peared to be destroyed, and the persons in it to be 
 lost or struggling in the waves ; amongst them he 
 particularly noticed Matilda, who screamed aloud 
 ' save me, save me, alas ! Struensee drags me down." 
 At this moment the bell above his head was rung. He* 
 suddenly arose, his cheeks wet with the tears he had 
 shed, his limbs still shook, and he trembled as he 
 obeyed the call to undress the Count. Just as he 
 entered Struensee's room, he distinctly heard the 
 private door shut, and also the retiring step of Matilda 
 just leaving his master, who surprised at the affright 
 and dismay so visible on his countenance, enquired 
 the cause. Ernestus which was the valet's name, after 
 a short time informed his master of his dream, upon 
 which he first smiled, and then appeared thought- 
 ful. Struensee, as was his custom after he had laid 
 down, took Pope's Abelard and Eloisa in his liand to 
 read himself to sleep ; his valet having a master key,
 
 128 COUNT STRUENSEE. 
 
 locked the door on the outside, and retired to bis own 
 bed ; his sleep, however was still perturbed and un- 
 sound, he thought he heard strange voices, and the 
 footsteps of many persons passing and re-passing ; 
 at last he distinctly Jlieard some one endeavouring to 
 open, as it were with an iron instrument, the outer 
 door of his room. His terrors now became realities, 
 he immediately arose, and approached the door to 
 listen to those without; but softly as he moved, his 
 steps were heard, and in a low voice, he was com- 
 manded in the king's name to open the door, on pain 
 of instant death. It is not to be wondered at, that 
 this young man instead of alaruung his master, in- 
 stantly obeyed this formidable mandate, and gave 
 admittance to his enemies. In a moment, but yet 
 without noise or tumult, Col. Kohler Banner dressed 
 in full uniform, red turned up with black, with 
 two inferior officers, and Capt. Dissentin, of the 
 Norwegian regiment entered. Two soldiers lield 
 each a cocked pistol at his head, another pointed 
 a third to his breast; while the Colonel, with a wax 
 taper in his hand in an under voice enquired, ^ Have 
 you awoJi-e the Count ?' ' I have not,' was the reply. 
 The Colonel then went to Struensee's door, finding- 
 it fast he said to the valet, ' Have you a key ?' 
 ' Yes, your Excellency, I have.' * Then open 
 the door as softly as possible.' This complied with, 
 Colonel Banner was the first that entered with Er- 
 nestus by his side ; there were three inferior officers, 
 each with a drawn sword in his right, and a wax light 
 in his left hand. The unconscious Count slept so 
 soundly, that he did not awake with all this noise
 
 COUNT STRUENSEE. 129 
 
 and blaze of tapers. He was lying on his right side, 
 liis head upon his arm ; the book he had been reading- 
 lay upon the floor* After a moment's pause, during 
 which Kohler Banner stood gazing sternly on the 
 unconscious culprit, he approached and touching 
 Struensee on the shoulder, awoke him to all the horrors 
 of sudden and certain perdition. 
 
 His consternation may be much easier conceived 
 than described. Suddenly he arose half upright. — 
 " What's all this," cried he, " in God's name what 
 is all this about?" Colonel Banner in reply shewed 
 him the King's warrant which he held in his hand, 
 and informed him he was a prisoner. " Come," said 
 he, " you must dress yourself without delay, and go 
 with me." This summons he obeyed, and in a short 
 time was conveyed along with Count Brandt, who had 
 also been secured, to the citadel. This done, Rantzan 
 persuaded the King to arrest the Queen, which she 
 submitted to with a fortitude and resolution that 
 could not be boasted of by Struensee ; she defended 
 herself till her strength and recollection failed her, 
 and was then conveyed to the Castle of Cronenberg. 
 
 During the first day of his imprisonment, Struensee 
 seemed stupified, he drank but a little wine and 
 water. He wept at the sight of his faithful valet, 
 who informed him of the seizure of his papers and 
 other property, of the confinement of the Queen and 
 Brandt ; he also informed him that his brothers and 
 friends were all under arrest. Ernestus was now 
 allowed to remain with the Count under severe pro- 
 hibitions. The second night filled him with increased 
 terrors for his beloved master, for about midnight he
 
 130 COUNT StRUENSEE, 
 
 heard the sound of heavy steps ascending the stair- 
 case, accompanied with tlie chinking of cliains or 
 fetters; his foreboding heart judged they were for the 
 Count, and he entertained but little hope of escaping 
 the same treatment himself. In the morning, upon 
 visiting Struensee, he found his fears were realised, 
 though the Count endeavoured to conceal his disgrace 
 by covering himself with the bed-clothes for a time. 
 At length the valet perceived with horror and dismay, 
 that his master was chained to an iron staple driven 
 in the wall, which being passed through a swivel was 
 fixed to a thick ring, which encompassed his right 
 ancle and his left wrist, scarcely aiFording him an op- 
 portunity of sitting on his bed-side. For the better se- 
 curing the Count, or rather for his greater punishment, 
 he was shortly after removed to another room, which 
 was small and low, with only one window in the corner ; 
 the walls were bare, and a bedstead of the commonest 
 kind constituted almost all its furniture. Here he 
 was more closely chained than before, and his valet 
 was dismissed in this gloomy abode ; he was visited 
 by priests and lawyers, who eventually induced him 
 to accuse the Queen of having first seduced him, and 
 to detail all that had occurred between them. This 
 cowardly act which was of no advantage to himself, 
 annihilated the slender hopes of Matilda. Struensee 
 and Brandt were brought to trial, found guilty of 
 high treason, and sentenced for execution. The 
 Queen was divorced and banished, and Juliana left 
 mistress of the field. 
 
 The execution of Brandt and Struensee took place 
 on the 28th of March, (April) 1772. The scaffold
 
 COUNT STRUENSEE. 131 
 
 nas erected at the east end of the town, and tliey 
 were conducted to the spot where they were to finish 
 their lives, in two separate carriages, through immense 
 crowds of people, and they arrived at this fatal place 
 about 11 o'clock. Brandt alighted first, and ascended 
 the scaffold in a firm, undaunted manner. His sen- 
 tence was then x'ead to him, and he saw his coat of 
 arms broken, without betraying the least sign of 
 emotion ; he devoted a few minutes to prayer, and 
 then addressed a few words to the surrounding spec- 
 tators. To the executioner who approached to assist 
 in undressing him, he said with firmness and yet not 
 without mildness, " stand off — do not presume to 
 touch me :" he then took off his pelisse without as- 
 sistance, and prepared for his fate. He fii'st stretched 
 forth his hand, and bade the executioner do his duty 
 without shrinking from the blow ; it was done in an 
 instant, and his head severed from his body almost at 
 the same moment, after which his body was quartered- 
 Durinjr this dreadful scene, Struensec was at the 
 bottom of the scaffold in the coach, conversing and 
 praying with a priest. When he saw the blood of 
 Brandt gushing from the scaffold, his whole frame 
 trembled, and he was so agitated, that he could not 
 ascend the steps of the scaffold Avithout assistance. He 
 said nothing, and quietly allowed the executioner to 
 assist him in preparing for the fate that awaited him; 
 but instead of imitating his fellow-sufferer in fortitude 
 and serenity, he started up several times before he gave 
 the signal, by which circumstances his sufferings were 
 greater than those of Brandt ; he drew back his hand 
 which was dreadfully mangled before it was cut off,
 
 13'2 COUNT STRUENSEE. 
 
 and was at last obliged to be held down by force, 
 while the executioner severed his head from his body. 
 Struensee was really convulsed and could not hold 
 himself still, his face and right arm were of necessity 
 placed in the cavities purposely cut in the block to 
 receive them. The assistant of the executioner held 
 the hand by the fingers, and the head by the hair. 
 Struensee's neck being short, a part of his chin was 
 cut througli, but it is more than likely he was insen- 
 sible before the fatal blow was given. The two 
 Counts were conveyed to the scaffold in their irons, 
 and as they were both executed on the same block, 
 Struensee had the horrid task to perform of laying his 
 face and hand in the yet warm blood of his dearest 
 friend, whose mangled remains lay spread around. — 
 A mind of greater strength than Struensee ever 
 possessed, might have been appalled by the dreadfuj 
 scene before him. 
 
 But the sentence was not yet complete : the bodies 
 were disemboweled, and the trunks each divided in 
 four quarters ; the entrails, &c. were thrown into 
 tubs placed on the scaffold to receive them ; the 
 heads, right hands, and bleeding quarters were then 
 exposed to public view, as they were conveyed through 
 the streets to a field at the opposite extremity, 
 where they were to be left till time and the weather 
 should destroy them, or they were devoured by the 
 fowls of the air. Each body was raised on four stout 
 balks driven into the earth at equal distances, and a 
 taller pole was fixed in the centre, upon which the 
 head was fixed, the pole being forced up inside to the 
 scull, through which a spike was driven to secure it ;
 
 COUNT STRUENSEE. 133 
 
 the entrails, &c. were buried at the foot of the central 
 pole ; the hand of each was nailed on to a piece of 
 board, and placed transversely before the head. On 
 the top of each of the four posts a cart or waggon- 
 wheel was fixed horizontally, on which a quarter of 
 the body was exposed, and made fast to the wheel 
 by strong iron chains. 
 
 Poor Ernestus the valet, who had used his en- 
 deavours to obtain an interview with his master before 
 his execution, but in vain, was for his fidelity taken 
 into the service of Count Rantzan, but his sorrow 
 appeared to be inconsolable. In about a week after 
 the execution, by a desire to view once more the face 
 of his lamented master, he was induced to visit the 
 place where his mangled remains were exposed, and 
 so greatly was he shocked at the sight, that he fell 
 senseless on the earth, where he was found ; con- . 
 veyed home and confined for a week to his room ; the 
 faithful attachment of this young Norwegian to his 
 beloved master, could only be obliterated by the hand 
 of death. 
 
 The fate of Struensee affords a striking example of 
 the mutability of human affairs, and forcibly inculcates 
 a moral lesson. The necessity of avoiding indulgence 
 in guilty pleasures, the non-resistance of which had 
 so fatal a termination with him ; for if he had pur- 
 sued a just and honourable course, happy would it 
 have been for himself and Matilda ; had he subdued 
 his own passion, and exhorted the young indignant 
 Queen to repress her vindictive feelings, it is probable 
 that he might have averted the misery and disgrace 
 that followed, instead of which he rushed with his
 
 134 COUNT STRUENSEE. 
 
 eyes open, upon infamy and destruction, dragging his 
 unfortunate Queen with him to perdition. 
 
 The Editor of this work cannot close his account 
 of this unfortunate Count, without acknowledging 
 himself principally indebted to a very intelligent and 
 amusing work, entitled " The Northern Courts," 
 containing original memoirs of the sovereigns of 
 Sweden and Denmark, by Mr. John Brown, as well 
 as for a considerable portion of pleasure and delight 
 he has experienced in their perusal.
 
 JOHN COUSTOS, 
 
 THE INVINCIBLE FREEMASON. 
 
 " My blood boils at those horrible recollections — I hate — I fly the 
 human species — a mass of victims and murderers — and unless !t reforms, 
 may it be annihilated." Abbe Raynal. 
 
 The cruelties of the Inquisition, inflicted as they 
 are under the mask of religion, are held in so much 
 abhorrence in all countries free from the miseries of 
 intolerant fanaticism, that it is scarcely possible to 
 contemplate the existence of such a tribunal in the 
 present day, or to look back upon its past atrocities 
 without feelings of horror and detestation, of which 
 the subject of our present article atFords a striking afid 
 most lamentable example. 
 
 John Coustos was a native of Berne in Switzer- 
 land, and was brought up in the profession of a lapi= 
 dary. In the year 17 IG, his father came to London, 
 bringing with him his whole family, with intention to 
 settle in England ; for which purpose he became a 
 naturalized subject of the British dominions. Here 
 he resided with his father for about twenty-two years, 
 after which, induced by the advice and solicitations of 
 a friend, he left the metropolis of England and went 
 to Paris, with a view to work in the galleries of the 
 Jjouvre, where he remained for about five years, and
 
 136 JOHN COU9TOS. 
 
 removed to Lisbon in hope of finding an opportunity 
 of s^oing to Brazil, where he flattered himself that he 
 should make his fortune. But the King of Portugal, 
 whose permission was necessary before he could 
 depart, upon being informed of his profession refused 
 to grant him his consent, upon the supposition that it 
 would be by no means proper to send a foreigner, 
 who was a lapidary, into a country abounding with 
 immense treasures, whose value the government en- 
 deavoured, by all possible means, to conceal even 
 from the inhabitants. 
 
 Upon the failure of his petition, and finding there 
 was no hope of his going to Brazil, he became a resi- 
 dent in Lisbon, and was very soon introduced to se- 
 veral substantial jewellers and others of great credit 
 in that city, and had the pleasure of seeing before him 
 a fair prospect not only of obtaining a handsome and 
 comfortable subsistence, but also to realise a com- 
 petency for old age by the exercise of his profes- 
 sion. 
 
 These pleasing anticipations were, however, com- 
 pletely frustrated by a circumstance as cruel and unjust 
 as perhaps ever disgraced the annals of any country. 
 He had enrolled himself while in England as one of 
 the fraternity of that honourable and ancient society 
 called Freemasons, a fact which did not long remain 
 unknown to the Inquisitors of what is termed the 
 Holy Office ; and as he was known to associate parti- 
 cularly with some persons who were also of that bro- 
 therhood, and who were also marked by the vigilant 
 eye of the Inquisition ; it appears to have been deter- 
 mined that CousTos, who passed for one of the most
 
 JOHN COUSTOS. 137 
 
 zealous members of the art, should become the victim 
 of their infernal malice, with a hope, if possible, to 
 discover the secrets of the craft. 
 
 With this object in view, the officers of the Inqui- 
 sition were first instructed to examine and open all 
 letters directed to him for full twelve months before 
 their hostilities were openly manifested, and against 
 this there was no appeal, as the Inquisitors had 
 usurped a power even over the monarchs of Spain 
 and Portugal. They did not, however, find in his 
 letters any thing by which it could be inferred that 
 Freemasonry either struck at the Romish religion, 
 or had any tendency to disturb the government, still 
 they were not satisfied, the very existence of secrecy 
 in their minds implied guilt, and they resolved to set 
 every engine at work to discover it. 
 
 He had not at that time been made acquainted that 
 the practice of the art was forbidden in Portugal, nor 
 was he able to divine the cause for inspection of his 
 letters, but continued with the other brethren to meet 
 as usual at each others house, which being discovered 
 by the barbarous zeal of a lady, who declared at con- 
 fession that they were Freemasons, who according to her 
 opinion were monsters in nature perpetrating the most 
 shocking crimes ; the vigilant officers of the Inquisi- 
 tion were immediately dispatched inquest of them, and 
 were not long in executing their infamous commission. 
 A Mr. Mouton a diamond cutter was the first that fell 
 into the clutches of these infernals, and was thrown 
 into a dungeon of the Inquisition without suffering 
 him to utter one word, or any other friend to know 
 where he was. This, however, was soon explained 
 by the severe persecution that was immediately raised
 
 138 JOHN cousTos. 
 
 a<;ainst Freemasons, for Coustos was seized about 
 four days after, which was effected tlirough the inter- 
 vention of a Portuguese pretended friend of his, who 
 had been ordered by the Holy Office to watch him 
 narrowly ; this man seeing him in a coffee-house on 
 the 5th of March, 1742-3, between nine and ten at 
 night, he gave them notice, and when he was going 
 out of the house with two friends, his confusion and 
 astonishment were indescribable, at finding himself 
 surrounded by the officers ; they pretended that he 
 had passed his %vord for a diamond, with which it had 
 been supposed Mr. Mouton had run away, and that 
 he certainly must be his accomplice. He was immedi- 
 ately dispossessed of his sword, handcuffed and hurried 
 away to the prison, according to the usual custom, 
 under the darkness of night, for they seldom cause a 
 person to be seized in broad day-light, unless they 
 are almost sure that he will make no noise nor resist- 
 ance. Upon arrival at the prison of the Inquisition, 
 he was, by four subaltern guards or officers, ordered 
 to an apartment till such time as notice should be 
 given of his capture to the President, who shortly 
 after made his appearance, and ordered his pockets to 
 be searched and every thing taken from him ; he was 
 then consigned to a dungeon, and forbade to speak 
 loud, or knock at the walls, but in case of wanting 
 any thing, to beat against the door with the padlock 
 that hung on the outside. 
 
 In this dismal place he had time to reflect upon all 
 the horrors of his situation, for here he remained a day 
 and two nights, listening to the cries and hollow groans 
 of his fellow prisoners, echoing through the dreadful 
 mansion, and which the solemn silence of night ren-
 
 JOH\ COIJSTOS. 159 
 
 dered still more shockino-. It was now that time 
 appeared to have lost all motion, and these tlireescore 
 hours appeared to him like so many years ; he, how- 
 ever endeavoured to calm his troubled spirits by call- 
 ing reason and patience to his aid, and began seriously 
 to consider how he should extricate himself from this 
 labyrinth of horrors, devoting his whole thoughts 
 to the means of justification. This he conceived he 
 had accomplished, and in all probability it might have 
 proved so, had his attempt been laid before impartial 
 judges, at all events he fortified his mind against 
 intimidation. 
 
 He was now shaved and had his hair cut, after 
 which he was led, bareheaded, into the presence of 
 four Inquisitors, who ordered him to kneel down and 
 lay his hand upon the Bible, and swear in the pre- 
 sence of Almighty God to answer truly to all such 
 questions as they should ask him. A mock trial then 
 ensued, in which they exhorted him to confess the 
 several crimes he had committed since he was capa- 
 ble of judging between good and evil up to that mo- 
 ment ; to which he replied in a mild and dignified but 
 firm manner, that he conceived none but his Creator 
 could absolve him. This answer was by no means 
 satisfactory, and he was informed that confession 
 would be forced from him by expedients the Holy 
 Office employed for that purpose ; upon which he was 
 remanded back to his dungeon after being exhorted 
 to examine his conscience. 
 
 In three days more he was sent for again, and fur- 
 ther interrogated ; and in his reply he informed the 
 Inquisitors that he could not conceive he had ever 
 spoken or acted in a way that could justly give ollence
 
 140 JOHN COUSTOri. 
 
 to the Holy Office ; that he never interfered with re- 
 ligious subjects, and further, that he belonged to a 
 Society composed of persons of diflerent religions, one 
 of the laws of which Society expressly forbade its 
 members to dispute on those subjects under a consider- 
 able penalty. Upon this they presently exclaimed "a 
 Freemason, a Freemason," and from that instant he 
 became convinced that he had been imprisoned solely 
 on account of masonry. 
 
 An endeavour was now made to draw from him 
 the nature of the laws and constitution of that So- 
 ciety, to which he replied, " That every Free- 
 mason is obliged, upon his admission as a brother, to 
 swear, upon the Holy Gospel, that he will be faithful 
 to the King, and never enter into any plot or conspi- 
 racy against his sacred person, or against the country 
 where he resides ; and that he will pay obedience to 
 the magistrates appointed by the Monarch. That 
 charity was the foundation and soul, as it were, of the 
 Society, as it linked together the several individuals 
 of which it was composed by the tie of paternal love, 
 and made it an indispensable duty to assist in the 
 most charitable manner, without distinction of reli- 
 gion, all such necessitous persons as were found to be 
 true objects of compassion. That many noble and dis- 
 tinguished characters had becomemembers. This they 
 said must be a lie, for it was impossible this Society 
 should profess the practice of such good maxims, and 
 yet be so very jealous of its secrets as to exclude them 
 from the knowledge of women, and ordered him into 
 another deep dungeon, where he was confined for seven 
 weeks ; during which time he was three times taken 
 before the Inquisitors, and made to swear upon the
 
 * JOHN cousTOS. 141 
 
 Bible that he would not reveal the secrets of the In- 
 quisition, although they expected him to divulge to 
 them the mysteries of masonry, the keeping of which 
 they conceived to be wholly unnecessary to so virtu- 
 ous and well-disposed a body, and they became pe- 
 remptory, but he remained inflexible. 
 
 He was now taken ill and ordered to another dun- 
 geon, which admitted some glimmerings of day-light. 
 As soon, however, as he was recovered, he was again 
 taken before them and further interrogated respecting 
 masonry, but he still persisted in not breaking 
 his oath, notwithstanding they continued to urge 
 him to change his religion, with equal effect ; find- 
 ing him immoveable, they called him heretic, declar- 
 ing that he was damned. Finally, he was charged 
 by the proctor, went through the form of a trial, and 
 was remanded again to his dungeon, to wait the 
 sentence of the court, which was, that he was con- 
 demned to suffer the tortures of the Holy Office, for 
 refusing to tell the truth, as they falsely asserted. 
 
 He hereupon was instantly conveyed to the tor- 
 ture-room, built in form of a square tower, where no 
 light appeared, but what two candles gave ; and, to 
 prevent the dreadful cries and shocking groans of 
 the unhappy victims from reaching the ears of the 
 other prisoners, the doors were lined with a sort of 
 quilt. 
 
 The reader will naturally suppose that he must 
 be seized with horror, when, at his entering this in- 
 fernal place, he saw himself, on a sudden, surrounded 
 by six wretches, who, after preparing the tortures, 
 stripped him naked, (all to linen drawers) ; when lay- 
 ing him on his back, they begun to lay hold of every
 
 14:2 JOHN COUSTOS. 
 
 part of his body. First, they put round liis neck an 
 iron collar, which was fastened to the scailbld ; they 
 then fixed a ring- to each foot ; and this being- done, 
 they stretched his limbs with all their might. They 
 next wound two ropes round each arm, and two round 
 each thigh, which ropes passed under the scafluld, 
 through holes made for that purpose ; and were all 
 drawn tight at the same time by four men, upon a 
 signal made for this purpose. 
 
 The reader will believe that his pains must be in- 
 tolerable, when he solemnly declares, that these ropes, 
 which were of the size of one's little finger, pierced 
 through his flesh quite to the bone ; making the 
 blood gush out at the eight different places that were 
 thus bound. As he persisted in refusing to discover 
 any more than what has been seen in the interrogato- 
 ries above ; the ropes were thus drawn together four 
 difierent times. At his side stood a physician and 
 surgeon, who often felt his temples, to judge of the 
 danger he might be in ; by which means his tortures 
 were suspended at intervals, that he might have an 
 opportunity of recovering- himself a little. 
 
 While he was thus suffering, they were so barba- 
 rously unjust as to declare, that were he to die 
 under the torture, he would be guilty by his obsti- 
 nacy, of self-murder. In fine, the last time the ropes 
 were drawn tight, he grew so exceedingly weak, occa- 
 sioned by the blood's circulation being stopped, and 
 the pains he endured, that he fainted quite away ; 
 insomuch that he was carried back to his dungeon, 
 without his once perceiving it. 
 
 These barbarians finding that the tortures above 
 described, could not extort any farther discovery from
 
 JOHN cousTos. 143 
 
 him ; but that the more they made him suffer, the 
 more fervently he addressed his supplications, for 
 patience, to heaven ; they were so inhuman six weeks 
 after, as to expose him to another kind of torture, 
 more grievous, if possible, than tire former. They 
 made him stretch his arms in such a manner, that 
 the palms of his hands were turned outward ; when, 
 by the help of a rope that fastened them together at 
 the wrist, and which they turned by an engine ; they 
 were drawn gently nearer to one another behind in 
 such a manner, that the back of each hand touched, 
 and stood exactly parallel one to the other ; where- 
 by both his shoulders were dislocated, and a consider- 
 able quantity of blood issued from his mouth. This 
 torture was repeated thrice ; after which he was again 
 taken to his dungeon, and put into the hands of 
 physicians and surgeons, Avho, in setting his bones, 
 put him to exquisite pain. 
 
 Two months after, being a little recovered, he was 
 again conveyed to the torture-room ; and there made 
 to undergo another kind of punishment twice. The 
 reader may judge of its horror, from the following 
 description. 
 
 The torturers turned twice round his body a thick 
 iron chain, which, crossing upon his stomach, termi- 
 nated afterwards at his wrists. They next set his 
 back against a thick board, at each extremity whereof 
 was a pulley, through which there run a rope, that 
 cv.uffht the ends of the chains at his wrists. The tor- 
 mentors then stretching these ropes by means of a 
 roller, pressed or bruised his stomach, in proportion 
 as the ropes were drawn tighter. They tortured him
 
 141 JOHN COUSTOS. 
 
 on this occasion to such a degree, that his wrists and 
 ^-houlders were put out of joint. 
 
 The surgeons, however, set them presently after ; 
 but the barbarians not having yet satiated their cruel- 
 ty, made him undergo this torture a second time, 
 which he did with fresh pains, though with equal con- 
 stancy and resolution. He was then remanded back 
 to his dungeon, attended by the surgeons who dressed 
 his bruises ; and here he continued till their Auto da 
 Fe, or goal delivery. 
 
 The reader may judge, from the faint description, 
 of the dreadful anguish he must have laboured under, 
 the nine different times they put him to the torture. 
 Most of his limbs were put out of joint and bruised in 
 such a manner, that he was unable, during some 
 weeks, to lift his hand to his mouth ; his body being 
 vastly swelled, by the inflammations caused by the 
 frequent dislocations. He had but too much reason 
 to fear, that he should feel the sad effects of this 
 crelty so long as he lived; he being seized from time 
 to time, with thrilling pains, with which he was never 
 afflicted, till he had the misfortune of falling into the 
 merciless and bloody hands of the Inquisitors. 
 
 The day of the Auto da Fe being come, he was 
 made to walk in the procession m ith the other victims 
 of this tribunal. Being come to St. Dominic's church, 
 his sentence was read, by which he was condemned 
 to the galley (as it is termed) during four years. 
 
 A fortnight before the solemnization of this Auto 
 da Fe, notice was given in all the churches, that it 
 would be celebrated on Sunday the 21st of June, 
 1744. At the same time, all who intended to be spec- 
 tators thereof, were exhorted not to ridicule the
 
 JOHN COUSTOS. 145 
 
 prisoners, but rather pray to God for tiieir conversion. 
 On Saturday the 20th of the month above mentioned, 
 they were all ordered to get ready by next morning ; 
 and at the same time, a band was given each of them, 
 and old black clothes to such as had none. 
 
 Those accused of Judaism, and who, through fear 
 of the torture, confessed their being such, were dis- 
 tinguished by large scapuiaries called san benidos. 
 This is a piece of yellow stuff, about two ells long ; 
 and in the middle of which a hole is made to put the 
 head through; on it were sewed stripes of red stuff, 
 and this falls behind and before, in form of a St. An- 
 drew's cross. Those who were condemned for sorcery, 
 magic, and such like, wore the same kind of scapulary 
 as is described above. They were distinguished only by 
 wearing a pasteboard cap, about a foot and half high, 
 on which devils and flames were painted ; and, at 
 the bottom, the word Wizard was written in large 
 characters. 
 
 Those who were not sentenced to die, carried a 
 lighted yellow wax taper in their hands. Coustos 
 was the only person to whom one Avas not given, on 
 account of his being an obstinate protestant. 
 
 The relapsed Jews, and such heretical Roman 
 Catholics as were sentenced to die for refusing to 
 confess the crimes whereof they were accused, were 
 dressed in grey samaras, much shorter than the san 
 benidos above mentioned. The face of the person 
 wearing it, is copied (before and behind) from the 
 life, standing on firebrands ; with flames curling 
 upwards, and devils round it. At the bottom of the 
 samara, their names and surnames were written. 
 
 ' u
 
 146 JOHN COUSTOS. 
 
 Blasphemers were dressed as above, and distin- 
 guished only by a gag in their mouths. 
 
 The prisoner being thus habited, the procession 
 opened with the Dominican Friars, preceded by the 
 banner of their order. Afterwards came the banner 
 and crucifix of the inquisition, which was followed by 
 the criminals, each whereof walked between two fa- 
 miliars, who were to be answerable for them, and 
 bring back to prison such as were not to be executed, 
 after the procession was ended. 
 
 The accompanying prisoners on these dismal oc- 
 casions is thought so great an honour, that such as 
 attend to the execution of these unhappy victims, and 
 even lean upon them, are always the first noblemen 
 in the kingdom; who are so proud of acting in this 
 character, that they would not resign that honour 
 for any other that could be offered them, so cruelly 
 blind is their zeal. 
 
 Next came the Jewish converts, followed by such 
 as were indicted for witchcraft and magic, and had 
 confessed their crimes. 
 
 The procession closed with the unhappy wretches 
 who were sentenced to the flames. 
 
 The march then began, when the whole procession 
 walked round the court of the chief Inquisitor's 
 palace, in presence of the king, the royal family, 
 and the whole court, who were come thither for this 
 purpose. The prisoners being all gone through the 
 court just mentioned, proceeded along one of the 
 sides of Rocio Square ; and went down Odreyros 
 Street : when, returning by Escudeyros Street, and 
 up another side of Rocio Square, they came at last 
 to St. Dominick's church, which was hung from top 
 to bottom with red and yellow tapestry.
 
 JOHN COUSTOS. 147 
 
 Before the high altar was built an amphitheatre, 
 with a pretty considerable number of steps in order 
 to seat all the prisoners and their attendant fa- 
 miliars. Opposite was raised another great altar 
 after the Romish fashion, on which was placed a 
 crucifix surrounded with several lighted tapers and 
 mass books. To the right of this was a pulpit, and 
 to the left a gallery, magnificently adorned for the 
 king, the royal family, the great men of the kingdom, 
 and the foreign ministers to sit in. To the right of 
 this gallery, was a long one for the Inquisitors ; and 
 between these two galleries a room, whither the In- 
 quisitors retire to hear the confessions of those, who 
 terrified at the horrors of impending death, may be 
 prompted to confess what they had before persisted 
 in denying; they sometimes gladly snatching this 
 last moment, allowed them to escape a cruel exit. 
 
 Every person being thus seated in the church, the 
 preacher ascended the pulpit, whence he made a 
 panegyric on the Inquisition; exhorted such pri- 
 soners as were not sentenced to die, to make good 
 use of the clemency indulged them, by sincerely re- 
 nouncing that instant, the heresies and crimes of 
 which they stood convicted. Then directing himself 
 to the prisoners who were to be burnt, he exhorted 
 them to make a good use of the little time left them, 
 by making a sincere confession of their crimes, and 
 thereby avoiding a cruel death. 
 
 During the sermon, the prisoners have some re- 
 freshments ; the open air having a very strong effect 
 on most, and the length of the march fatiguing them 
 greatly. On this occasion dry fruits arc given them, 
 and as much water as they can drink.
 
 148 JOHN COUSTOS. 
 
 The preacher being come from the pulpit, some 
 priests belonging to the Inquisition ascend it suc- 
 cessively to read the trial of each prisoner, who was 
 standing all the time holding a lighted taper. Each 
 prisoner after hearing it, returned to his place. This 
 lasted till ten at night. 
 
 The trials of all the prisoners not sentenced to die, 
 being read, the president of the Inquisition, dressed 
 in his sacerdotal vestments, appeared with a book in 
 his hand ; after which five or six priests in sur- 
 plices, tapped with a sort of wands, the heads and 
 shoulders of the prisoners in question; saying certain 
 prayers used in the Romish church, when the excom- 
 munication is taken off. 
 
 Then another priest went up into the pulpit to 
 read the trials of the ill'fated persons sentenced to 
 the flames ; after which these sad victims were de- 
 livered up to the secular power, whose officers take 
 them to the Relacaon,* whither the king comes. 
 Thus, the Inquisition, to conceal their cruelties, calls 
 in the secular arm, which condemns the prisoners to 
 die, or rather ratifies the sentence past by the In- 
 quisitors. This lasted till six in the morning. 
 
 At last these miserable creatures, accompanied by 
 the familiars and priests, were conducted under the 
 guard of a detachment of foot, to Campo da Laa, or 
 the Woolfield. Here they were fastened with chains 
 to posts, and seated on pitch barrels. Afterwards 
 the king appeared in a sorry coach, at which were 
 ropes instead of harnesses. He then ordered the 
 friars to exhort each of the victims in question to 
 
 * A senate house, or court of judicature.
 
 JOHN COUSTOS. 149 
 
 die in the Romish faith, upon pain of being burnt 
 alive ; but to declare, that such as complied with the 
 exhortation of the priest, should be strangled before 
 they were committed to the flames. His majesty staid 
 till all the prisoners were executed. 
 
 In this Auto da Fe, were burnt the following 
 persons : 
 
 1. Father Joseph de Seguira, a priest, convicted 
 of various heresies, and obstinate. 
 
 2. Theresa Carvalha, a widow, found guilty of dif- 
 ferent heresies, and confessing them. 
 
 3. Francis Dias Cabaco, a scrivener, convicted of 
 heresy, and obstinate. 
 
 4. Charles Joseph, a barber, convicted of heresy, 
 and obstinate. 
 
 5. Gabriel Roderiguez Bicudo, a shoemaker, who 
 after publicly abjuring Judaism in a former Auto da 
 Fe, and being taken up a second time for committing 
 a like crime, was convicted and proved obstinate. 
 
 G. Pedro de Rates Henequim, living on his estate, 
 condemned for invening, writing, following and de- 
 fending the doctrines of heretics ; for turning here- 
 siarch with execrable blasphemies; convicted, false, 
 dissembling, confident, varying, and impenitent. 
 
 7. Josepha Maria, spinster, daughter of Gabriel 
 Roderiguez Bicudo, abjuring in the same manner as 
 her father, (above) and convicted a second time; 
 false, dissembling, and impenitent. 
 
 8. Mecia da Costa, a widow, reconciled in a 
 former Auto da Fe for the crime of witchcraft, and 
 living a-part from the catholic faith ; making a con- 
 tract with the devil, whom she worshipped as God ; 
 convicted, denying, obstinate and relapsed.
 
 150 JOHN COUSTOS. 
 
 The instant the sad victims above-mentioned were 
 delivered up to the secuhir arm, all the rest of the 
 prisoners were led back with the like ceremony, 
 abwut ten at night from St. Dominick's church to the 
 Incjuisition. Being arrived there, they were carried 
 through several galleries, till they came to the abode 
 allotted them. Here were several chambers, the doors 
 of which were open ; when each of them chose that 
 which he liked best. There then were given to each 
 a straw bed, a blanket, and sheets which had been 
 laid in. Most of these things were far from clean, 
 there not having been an Auto da Fe for two years 
 before. The women were lodged a story above them. 
 
 Being thus settled to the best of their power, they 
 thought themselves the happiest persons upon the 
 earth, though they had little to boast of. However, 
 they were now together, and breathed the fresh air ; 
 they enjoyed the light of the sky, and had a view 
 of a garden : in a word, they knew that they should 
 not be put to death ; all which circumstances proved 
 a great consolation. The alcaide or gaoler, and his 
 brother-keeper brought each of them a loaf, a cake, 
 and water sufficient for the whole company ; permitting 
 them at the same time, to divert themselves, provided 
 they did not make a noise. This was the first time 
 they had supped in the Inquisition with any satisfac- 
 tion. Having been greatly fatigued by the ceremony 
 described in the foregoing pages, they slept very 
 soundly. 
 
 He had to observe, that from the time of their 
 returning from the procession, they were supported 
 at the expence of the Cardinal-Inquisitor, and not at 
 that of the mock holy office. They were soon sensi-
 
 JOHN COUSTOS. 151 
 
 ble of this change of masters, not only by the advant- 
 ages described above ; but also by the permission 
 allowed them, of sending to their relations and friends 
 for such provisions as they might want, if they did not 
 like those given them, or had not enough to satisfy 
 their appetites. Coustos conceived it would be the 
 highest ingratitude in him notto mention the very essen- 
 tial favours which he himself, as well as the three bre- 
 thren, his fellow prisoners, received from the Freema- 
 sons at Lisbon. These could not be easy till they had 
 obtained leave to visit them, which gave them inexpres- 
 siblejoy ; and their bounty proved of the most signal 
 advantage to them. They imagined at first, that the 
 reason why the cardinal ordered them to be confined 
 during some days in this part of the prison, was to 
 accustom them, by insensible degrees, to the open 
 air ; and to dispel the dreadful melancholy which had 
 so long oppressed them. However, the true cause of 
 it was, that each of them might be the more easily 
 conveyed to the place to which he was doomed by his 
 sentence, to put into their hands a bill of the ex- 
 pences the Inquisitors had been at; and to give the 
 various officers the instructions necessary for con- 
 veying them afterwards to the several places appointed 
 by the Inquisitors. 
 
 During the course of the week in question, some 
 of the prisoners were banished ; such as had more 
 husbands or wives than one were whipt through the 
 streets of Lisbon, and others sent to the galley, 
 among whom Coustos was one. 
 
 The Portugueze Galley as it is called, is a prison 
 standing by the river side, and consists of two very 
 spacious rooms built one over the other. That on
 
 155 .1011 N COUSTO*. 
 
 the ground floor is the apartment of the slaves, and 
 the other is for the sick, and the officers of this 
 prison ; it being the receptacle, not only of such as 
 are condemned by thelnquisitors, but likewise by the 
 lay Judges. Among these prisoners are Turks and 
 Moors, taken on board the corsair vessels ; together 
 with fugitive slaves, and bad or villainous servants 
 whom their masters send to this galley as a chastise- 
 ment. 
 
 These several prisoners, of what quality soever, 
 are employed in toils equally low and grievous. 
 Some work in the dockyards; they carrying timber 
 to the carpenters, unloading the ships, and providing 
 water and provisions for victualling such as are out- 
 ward bound. They likewise carry water to the pri- 
 sons in Lisbon ; and to the King's gardens, in order 
 for refreshing them ; in a word, they are obliged to 
 submit to any labours, however ignominious and pain- 
 ful, for the service of his Portugueze majesty, or 
 of the officers who command over them. These 
 slaves are treated with the greatest severity and 
 cruelty, except they find means to bribe their over, 
 seers to gentleness, by giving them at intervals, a 
 little money. 
 
 In this Galley all the slaves are fastened two and 
 two, by one foot only, with a chain eight feet long 
 At their girdle is an iron hook, by which they 
 shorten or lengthen their chain, to make the weight 
 of it less troublesome. Their heads and beards are 
 shaved once a month. They wear coarse blue 
 clothes, caps, and coats ; and have a great coat, made 
 of coarse serge of the same colour, which serves them 
 as a cloak in the day time, and a coverlet at night.
 
 JOHN COUSTOS. 153 
 
 They lie in a sort of frame of boards raised a little 
 from the aground, over which a mat is spread. 
 
 To every Galley Slave is given each day, a pound 
 and a half of very dry, black biscuit, with six pounds 
 of salt meat every month, and a bushel of peas, 
 lentils, or beans, which they are allowed to sell, 
 in order to purchase better provisions, if they can 
 afford it. 
 
 They are led every morning, a few festivals ex- 
 cepted, whithersoever their drudgery may be wanted. 
 They then toil incessantly till eleven, when they 
 leave work, in order to eat and rest themselves 
 till one ; after which they again renew their mise- 
 rable labours, and these they carry on till night, 
 when they are conducted back to the Galley. Such 
 is the life which these unhappy wretches lead daily. 
 
 When any of them fall sick, they are removed 
 to the other great room, where proper care is 
 taken of them by the physicians, surgeons, &c. 
 The sick are here treated with all imaginable 
 care and humanity. Those whose stomachs [are 
 too weak to digest strong aliments, have good 
 broth, on which occasion chickens are not spared. 
 But it is far otherwise with regard to punish- 
 ments ; their task-masters exercising great cruelty 
 towards all such as commit a fault : those un- 
 happy slaves being laid on their bellies, are fastened 
 to a ladder, when two men whip alternately their 
 bare posteriors with a leather thong, or a thick pitched 
 rope. The sufferers often receive two or three hun- 
 dred lashes in this manner, whereby their skin is not 
 only flayed, but pieces of flesh are torn away ; so that
 
 154 JOHN COUSTOS. 
 
 the surgeons arc ol)liged to make deep incisions, in 
 order to prevent a mortification ; which frequently 
 prevents their working during a long time. These 
 wounds often become ulcerous, and many are disabled 
 for life. In short, the barbarities exercised by this 
 tribunal are so great and so various, that Oldham 
 might justly put the following words into the mouth 
 of Ignatius Loyola. 
 
 Let th' Inquisition rage, fresh cruelties 
 
 Make the dire engines groan with tortur'd cries: 
 
 Let Campo Flori every day be strew'd 
 
 With the warm ashes of the Lutheran brood : 
 
 Repeat again Bohemian slaughter o'er ; 
 
 And Pie'mont vallies drown with floating gore : 
 
 Swifter than murth'ring angels when they fly 
 
 On errands of avenging destiny. 
 
 Fiercer than storms let loose, with eager haste 
 
 Lay cities, countries, realms, whole nature waste. 
 
 Sack, ravish, burn, destroy, slay, massacre, 
 
 Till the same grave their lives and names inter. 
 
 Satyr III. (against the Jesuits.) 
 
 Four days after thts procession, Coustos was con- 
 veyed to his galley ; and joined on the morrow, in the 
 painful occupations of his fellow slaves. However, the 
 liberty he had of speaking to his friends, after having 
 been deprived of even the sight of them during his 
 tedious, wretched abode in the prison of the Inqui- 
 sition : the open air he now breathed ; with the sa- 
 tisfaction he felt in being freed from the dreadful ap- 
 prehensions which always overspread his mind, when- 
 ever he reflected on the uncertainty of his fate ; these 
 circumstances united, made him find the toils of the 
 galley much more supportable.
 
 JOHN COUSTOS. 135 
 
 As he had suffered greatly in his body by the tor- 
 tures inflicted on him in the prison of the Inquisition, 
 of which the reader has seen a very imperfect, though 
 faithful narrative, in the foregoing pages ; he was 
 quite unfit to go about the painful labour that was 
 immediately allotted him, viz. the carrying water (an 
 hundred pounds weight) to the prisons of the city. 
 But the fears he was under of being exposed to the 
 inhumanity of the guards or overseers who accom- 
 pany the galley slaves, caused him to exert himself so 
 far beyond his strength, that twelve days after, he 
 fell grievously sick. He was then sent to the Infir- 
 mary, where he continued two months. During his 
 abode in this place, he was often visited by the Irish 
 friars belonging to the convent of Corpo Santo, who 
 offered to get his release, provided he would turn 
 Roman Catholic. He assured them, that all their en- 
 deavours would be fruitless ; he expecting his en- 
 largement from the Almighty alone, who, if he, in 
 his profound Avisdom, thought proper, would point 
 out other expedients for his obtaining it, than j^is be- 
 coming an apostate. 
 
 Being unable after this, to go through the toils to 
 which he had been sentenced, he was excused by his 
 amply rewarding tiie overseers. It was now that he 
 had full leisure to reflect seriously on the means of 
 obtaining his liberty; and for this purpose desired a 
 friend to write to his brother-in-law, Mr. Barbu, to 
 inform him of hie deplorable state; and to entreat 
 him, humbly to address the Earl of Harrington in his 
 favour; his brother-in-law having the honour to live 
 in his lordship's family. This nobleman, whose 
 humanity and generosity were the theme of in-
 
 156 JOHN COUSTOS. 
 
 I'mitely ablcM- pens than ours, was so ^ood as to 
 declare, that he would endeavour to procure his 
 freedom. Accordingly, his lordship spoke to his 
 grace the duke of Newcastle, one of the principal 
 secretaries of state, in order to supplicate for leave 
 from the Sovereign, that his minister at Lisbon might 
 demand liim as a subject of Great Britain. 
 
 His Majesty, ever attentive to the felicity of his 
 subjects, and desirous of relieving them in all their 
 misfortunes, was so gracious as to interpose in his 
 favour. Accordingly his commands being dispatched 
 to Mr. Compton, the British minister at Lisbon ; 
 that gentleman demanded his liberty of the king of 
 Portugal, in his Britannic majesty's name, which ac- 
 cordingly he obtained the latter end of October, 174:4. 
 The person who came and freed him from the galley 
 by order of the Inquisitors, took him before them. 
 The president then told him, that Cardinal da Cunha 
 had given orders for his being released. At the same 
 time he bid him return to the holy office in three or 
 four days. 
 
 He could perceive during this interval, that he was 
 followed by the spies of the Inquisition, who kept a 
 watchful eye over his, behaviour, and the places he 
 frequented. He waited upon the envoy as likewise 
 upon the consul, whom he informed of the commands 
 which had been laid upon him at the Inquisition ; 
 and those gentlemen advised him to obey them. They 
 cautioned him, however, to take a friend with him in 
 order that he might give them notice, in case he 
 should be seized again. He accordingly returned to 
 the Inquisitors five days after, when the president de- 
 clared, that the tribunal would not permit him to
 
 JOHN COUSTOS. J57 
 
 continue any longer in Portugal ; and therefore 
 that he must name the city and kingdom whither 
 he intenJed to retire. — ' As my family,' replied he, 
 * is now in London, I design to go thither as soon as 
 ' possible.' They then bid him embark in the first 
 ship that should sail for England ; adding, that the 
 instant he had found one, he must inform them of the 
 day and hour he intended to go on board, together 
 with the captain's name, and that of his ship. 
 
 A report prevailed some days after, that one of the 
 persons seized by the Inquisition for Freemasonry, 
 and Mho obtained his liberty by turning Roman Ca- 
 tholic, had been so indiscreet as to divulge the 
 cruelties exercised in this tribunal. 
 
 He now imagined that prudence required him to 
 secure himself from a second persecution. As there 
 was at this time no English ship in the port of Lisbon, 
 he waited upon Mr. Vantil, the resident of Holland, 
 and besought him to speak to the Dutch admiral to 
 admit him on board his fleet. The resident, touched 
 with his calamities, hinted his request to the admiral, 
 who generously complied with it. He then went, 
 together with a friend, and informed the Inquisitor, 
 that he designed to embark for England in the Da- 
 mietta, commanded by vice admiral Cornelius Screiver, 
 who was to sail in a few days. Upon the Inquisitor'* 
 enquiring the exact time when he intended to go on 
 board ; he replied, at nine o'clock the next morning. 
 He then bid him to come precisely at that hour; 
 adding, that he would send some officers of the In- 
 quisition to see him on board. 
 
 These orders giving him great uneasiness, he 
 waited upon the several gentlemen above mentioned;
 
 iJS JOHN COUSTOS. 
 
 when telling- them the injunctions laid upon him, they 
 advised him to act very cautiously on this occasion. 
 He therefore thought it would be safest for him to 
 go on board immediately, without giving any notice 
 of it to the Inquisitors ; which he accordingly did. 
 
 The Inquisitor no sooner found that he failed 
 coming to him at the time appointed, in order to be 
 conducted to the ship, than he sent out about thirty 
 spies. Nine of these coming to enquire after him at 
 the house where he used to lodge, searched it from 
 top to bottom ; examining every trunk, chest of 
 drawers and closet. But tlieir endeavours to find him 
 being fruitless, some officers of the Inquisition getting 
 into a boat, rowed several times round the three 
 Dutch men of war lying at anchor. These officers 
 imagined that if he was on board, and consequently 
 in a place of security, he would not be afraid of 
 shewing himself; a circumstance that would have 
 put an end to their search, which cost them some 
 pains and expence. As he did not gratify their cu- 
 riosity, and weighing anchor a few days after he 
 knew not whether they continued it. 
 
 Their search was so open, both at the house where 
 he had lodged, as well as at other places, that he was 
 soon informed of it ; at which he should have been 
 delighted, had not his joy been damped by the appre- 
 hensions he was under, lest his dear friend Mr. 
 Mouton, the companion of his sufferings and tortures, 
 merely on account of Freemasonry, should likewise 
 fall a victim to their barbarity. Speaking concerning 
 him to the admiral, he with the utmost humanity, 
 "ave him leave to send for him on board. lie came 
 accordingly the next day, and was received with
 
 JOHN COUSTOS. 159 
 
 great satisfaction by the whole ship's company, es- 
 pecially by C0USTOS5 who had a peculiar esteem for 
 him, which he ever after entertained. 
 
 They set sail two days after. And he had occasion 
 to observe during- the whole voyage, the true pleasure 
 which a generous mind feels in doing a humane 
 action, and in protecting the unhappy. This was 
 particularly conspicuous in the admiral, he ordering 
 the utmost care to be taken of them all the time they 
 were on board his ship ; he sometimes condescending 
 to admit them to his table, when he would talk to them 
 with the utmost familiarity. This distinction won 
 them civility of every person in the ship, which 
 continued till their arrival at Portsmouth where 
 they landed, without having been put to a farthing 
 expence during the whole voyage. 
 
 To conclude, they arrived in London the I5th of 
 December, 1744, after a long and dangerous voyage. 
 
 They returned thanks, with all the powers of 
 their souls to the Almighty, for having so visibly pro- 
 tected them from that infernal band of friars, who 
 employed the various tortures mentioned in the 
 former pages, in order to force them to apostatize 
 from their holy religion. 
 
 CousTos returned to his sovereign King George II. 
 
 (the instrument under heaven for procuring him his 
 
 liberty) the most dutiful and respectful thanks, for his 
 
 so graciously condescending to interpose in favour 
 
 of an ill-fated galley-slave. 
 
 The foregoing narrative of unheard-of cruelties 
 
 inflicted upon an individual wholly void of offence, 
 
 is collected from a book published by the unhappy 
 
 sufierer after his escape from the diabolical machina-
 
 160 JOHN COUSTOS. 
 
 tions of tliis inliuman tribunal, of which it is sincerely 
 to be regretted, there is any thing like the shadow of 
 its remains ; and perhaps, there are some at this 
 moment, who, in spite of all their precautions, are 
 undergoing similar torments upon equal grounds of 
 justice. Happy is it for the inhabitants of this 
 favoured country, that no such tribunal is suflfered to 
 exist. Long may we have occasion to exult that 
 
 " In Briton the soil whicii true Liberty yields," 
 
 the laws are dispensed with justice, and justice 
 tempered with mercy. 
 
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