Chapter VIII: Part 8

‘“_Well_,” (quoth Browne), “_if it must be so, I’m contented; but, then, I’ll tell you what, I’ll have the odd Eighteen Pence spent_.”

‘“_With all my heart_,” said Blowen. “_We’ll never make a dry Bargain on’t._”

‘They are all agreed, and _Browne_ leads them up to the _Blackmore’s Head_ Alehouse, in _Exeter Street_, where a couple of Fowls are ordered to be laid down, and Stout and Ale is called for by wholesale. At last they went to Dinner, and, afterwards, _Browne_, changing his Six Guineas for Silver, gave his Follower (to carry on the jest) Forty Shillings, and put the rest in his pocket. _Mark Blowen_, seeing that, began to look surly, and asked for his Share.

‘Said _Browne_: “_What Share, friend?_”

‘Quoth _Mark Blowen_: “_Forty Shillings, as you gave this Man here._”

‘_Browne_ reply’d: “_Why, truly, Sir, I shall have an urgent Occasion to Night for what Sum I have about me, and if you’ll be pleas’d to lend me your Share but till_ Monday _Morning, I’ll come and pay you then at this House without fail, and return you, with infinite thanks, for the Favour._”

‘Quoth _Mark_ (who was a blundering, rustical sort of a Fellow): “_D---- me, Sir, don’t think to Tongue-Pad me out of my Due. I’ll have my Share now, or else he that’s the best Man here of us three shall have it all, win it, and wear it._”

‘“_Pray, Sir_,” (said _Browne_), “_don’t be in this Passion. I’ll leave you a sufficient Pledge for it till_ Monday.”

‘Quoth _Mark_: “_Let’s see it._”

‘Hereupon _Browne_ pulls out his Tip-Staff, and lays it on the Table; but the Butcher, not liking the Complexion of it, began to be moving, when the Follower, laying Hands on him, they arrested him in an Action of Eighteen Pounds, and carried him to the _Marshalsea_, where, after a Confinement of Nine Months, he ended his Days.’

There is another famous bailiff on record, named Jacob Broad; and of him it is narrated that, ‘being employed to arrest a Justice of the Peace living near _Uxbridge_, he went down there very often, and had us’d several Stratagems to take him, but, his Worship being very cautious in conversing with any of _Jacob’s_ Fraternity, his Contrivances to nap him prov’d always abortive. However, a great deal of Money was proffer’d by the Creditor to take the worshipful Debtor; so one Day _Jacob_, with a couple of his Followers, took a Journey in the Country, and, being near the end of their Journey, _Jacob_ alights, and flings his Bridle, Saddle, and Boots into a Thick Hedge, and then puts a Fetlock[45] on his Horse. The Followers tramp’d it a-foot, to one of whom giving the Horse, he leads it to a Smith at _Uxbridge_, and, telling him he had lost the Key of the Fetlock, he desir’d him to unlock it, whilst he went to a neighbouring Alehouse, where he would give him a Pot or two of Drink for his Pains. Accordingly the Smith unlockt it, and carried the Horse to the Alehouse; and, after he had drank Part of half-a-dozen of Drink, return’d to his Work again. Shortly after, came the other Follower to the Smith, inquiring if he did not see such a Horse come by that way, describing at the same time the Colour and Marks of it, and how his Master had lost him out of his Grounds that Morning. The Smith reply’d, that such a Horse was brought to him but a little before, to have a Fetlock taken off, and that he did imagine the Fellow to be a Rogue that had him; but, however, he believ’d he was still at such an Alehouse hard by, and might be there apprehended. Hereupon the Smith and Follower went to the Alehouse, where they found the Horse standing at the Door, and the other Follower in the House, whom they call’d a thousand Rogues, and charg’d with a Constable for a Thief. In the meantime, came _Jacob Broad_, who own’d the Horse to be his, and the Town-People, being all in a hurly-burly, they carried him before the Justice whom _Jacob_ wanted; but no sooner were _Jacob_, the supposed Thief, and the other Follower entered the House, but charging the Constable to keep the Peace, they arrested his Worship, and brought him forthwith to _London_, where he was forc’d to pay the Debt of two hundred and thirty-four Pounds before he could reach home again.’

Another story is related of Jacob Broad.

‘A certain Gentleman who liv’d at _Hackney_, and had been a Collector of the late Queen’s Duties, but cheated her of several thousands of Pounds, goes home, and pretends himself sick. Upon this he keeps his Bed, and, after a Fortnight’s pretended Illness, it was given out that he was Dead. Great preparations were then made for his Funeral. His Coffin, which was filled with Bricks and Saw-Dust, was covered with black Velvet, and his Wife, and Six Sons and Daughters, all in deep Mourning, follow’d it to the Grave, which was made in St. _John’s_ Church, at _Hackney_. This sham Funeral was so well carried on, that all the People of the Town would have sworn the Collector was really Dead. About a Week after his supposed Interment, _Jacob Broad_ had an Action of one hundred and fifty Pounds against him. He went to _Hackney_ to serve the Writ, but, enquiring after the Person he was to arrest, and being told that he was dead and buried, he return’d home again.

‘About Seven Years afterwards, the Creditor being certainly inform’d that the Collector was alive and well in his own House, he employed _Jacob_ again to arrest him, and accordingly he and another went to execute the Writ. _Jacob_ planted himself in an Alehouse adjacent to the long-supposed Deceased’s Habitation, and, while his Aid-de-Camp, or Follower, was doing something else, he told a Woman, coming by with a great Load of Turnips on her Head, that the People of such a House wanted some, which was the House where the Seven Years dead Man dwelt. She went forthwith and knockt at the Door, which was open’d to let her in, and the Follower, who was close at her Heels, rush’d in after her, and ran into a Back Parlour, where he saw the Person (according to the Description of him) whom he wanted sitting by the Fire Side. It happening then to be a festival Day, for the Entertainment of the Collector’s Children, and Grand Children, the Table was spread with Variety of Dainties; the Follower leapt over the Table, overthrowing the Viands on it, and laying hold of the Prisoner, all their Mirth was spoilt at once. In the mean Time came _Jacob Broad_, and, taking out the supposed dead Man, he seem’d to be overjoy’d at his Resurrection from a Seven Years’ Confinement and for tasting the fresh Air. _Jacob_ brings him to _London_, whence he remov’d himself by a Writ of _Habeas Corpus_ to the King’s Bench Prison in _Southwark_, where he died again in a Week’s time, for he was never heard of till he was seen about Three Years after in _Denmark_.

‘_Jacob Broad_ was always very happy in having Followers as acute as himself in any sort of Roguery, especially one _Andrew Vaughan_, afterwards a Bailiff himself on Saffron Hill, and one _Volly Vance_, otherwise call’d _Glym Jack_ from his having been a Moon Curser,[46] or Link Boy ... From a Link Boy _Glym Jack_ came to be _Jacob Broad’s_ Follower, who, together with _Andrew Vaughan_, he once took into the Country along with him to arrest a Justice of Peace, who was one of the shyest cocks that ever _Jacob_ had to take by Stratagem. In order to accomplish this Undertaking, _Jacob_, _Andrew_, and _Glym Jack_ were very well drest in Apparel, and mounted on good Geldings, having fine Hangers on their Sides, and Pistols in their Holsters, beside Pocket Pops sticking in their Bosoms. Being thus accoutred they rid into an Inn in the Town where the Justice of Peace they wanted dwelt, and, putting up their Horses, they ask’d the Landlord for a private Room, which, being accommodated with, they refresh’d themselves with a good Dinner, and afterwards set to play.

‘Whilst they were shaking their Elbows at 7 or 11 nick it, a great deal of Money and three or four Watches lying on the Table, when at last one of ’em cry’d, this Watch is my Snack, for I’m sure I first attackt the Gentleman from whom we took it; another swore such a Purse of Gold was his, which they had taken that Morning from a Gentlewoman, and, in short, everyone of ’em was swearing such a Prize was his, all which the Landlord (who listened at the Door) overhearing, thought to himself they were all Highwaymen. Hereupon he goes and acquaints the shy Justice of Peace with the matter, who ask’d _If he were sure they were Rogues_.

‘“_Nothing,_” (quoth the Innkeeper), “_is more certain, for they are all arm’d with more Pistols than ordinary,_ _swearing, damning, cursing, and sinking every Word they speak, and falling out about dividing their Booty.”_

‘“_Ay, ay_,” (reply’d the Justice), “_they are then certainly Highwaymen_,” and so order’d him to secure them.

‘The Innholder went for a Constable, who, with a great many Rusticks, arm’d with Pitch Forks, long Poles, and other Country Weapons, went with the Landlord to the Inn, suddenly rush’d into the Room, and surpriz’d _Jacob_ and his Followers, with Money and Watches lying before them.

‘“_So_,” (says the Constable), “_pretty Gentlemen, are not ye, that honest people can’t travel the Country without being robb’d by such villains as you are?--Well_,” (quoth the Constable to _Jacob_), “_what’s your Name?_”

‘His answer was _Sice-Ace_.[47]

‘“_A fine Rogue, indeed!_” said the Constable, at the same time asking _Andrew_ his Name, whose answer was,

‘“_Cinque-Duce_.”

‘“_Another Rogue in Grain!_” quoth the Constable; and then ask’d _Glym Jack_ what his Name was, who reply’d,

‘“_Quater-Tray_.”

‘“_Rogues! Rogues all!_” said the Constable; “_ay, worse than all, they are mear Infidels, Heathens, for I never heard such names before in a Christian Country. Come, Neighbours, bring ’em away before Mr. Justice, his Worship will soon make them change their Notes._”

‘Accordingly the Rusticks haled them along the Town to his Worship’s House, into which they were no sooner enter’d but he began to revile _Jacob_ and his Brethren for Highwaymen, and asking them their Names, they still were in the same Tone of _Sice-Ace_, _Cinque-Duce_, and _Quater-Tray_, at which the Justice, lifting up his Hands and Eyes to the Ceiling, cry’d out, _Such audacious Rogues as these were never seen before_.

‘“_Here, Tom,_” (quoth his Worship to his Clerk), “_write their_ Mittimus, _for I will send them everyone to_ Newgate.”

‘Whilst their Commitment was writing, _Jacob_ pulls a Bit of Parchment out of his Pocket, and, asking the Constable if he could read it, he put on his Spectacles, and posing and mumbling over it a Minute or two, said,

‘“_I cannot tell what to make of it. It is Latin, I think._”

‘“_Well, then,_” (quoth Jacob), “_I’ll tell you what it is, it is the King’s Process against this Gentleman that is going to commit us to_ Newgate; _therefore, in my Execution of it, I require you, as you are a Constable, to keep the Peace._”

‘This turn of the Dice made the Magistrate, the Peace Officer, and all the Rusticks stare at one another as if they were out of their Senses. However, _Jacob_ brought his Prisoner to _London_, and oblig’d him to make Satisfaction before he got out of his Clutches.’

The above anecdotes illustrate the humorous side of a bailiff’s life, but sometimes they met with very rough treatment, nay, were even killed. On the 4th of August, 1722, a bailiff named Boyce was killed by a blacksmith, who ran a red-hot iron into him; and the book I have quoted from thus speaks of bailiffs as ‘such Villains, whose Clan is suppos’d to descend from the cursed Seed of _Ham_, and therefore stinks in the Nostrils of all honest Men. Some of them have been paid in their own Coyn, for Captain _Bew_ kill’d a Sergeant of one of the Compters. Shortly after, a Bailiff was kill’d in _Grays-Inn_ Walks; another Bailiff had his Hand chopt off by a Butcher in _Hungerford_ Market, in the _Strand_, of which Wound he dyed the next Day, and another Man kill’d two Bailiffs at once with a couple of Pistols in _Houghton Street_, by _Clare Market_, for which he was touch’d with a cold iron[48] at the Sessions House at the _Old Baily_, besides several others of that detestable Tribe have deservedly suffer’d the same fate....

‘But, by the way, we must take Notice that a Bailiff is Universally hated by Man, Woman, or Child, who dearly love to see them duckt (Pick-pocket like) in the _Muse_ Pond,[49] or the cleanly Pond of the Horse Guards, at _Whitehall_, and sometimes well rinsed at the _Temple_, or _Grays-Inn_ Pump; and if any of these napping Scoundrels is taken within the Liberty of the _Mint_, the enraged Inhabitants of this Place tye him fast with Ropes in a Wheelbarrow; then they trundle him about the Streets, with great Shouts and Huzzas.... After he is convey’d in the like Order to a stinking Ditch, near _St. George’s_ Fields, where he is plunged over Head and Ears, _à la mode de Pickpocket_; and then, to finish the Procession, he is solemnly convey’d to a Pump, according to the antient Custom of the Place, where he is sufficiently drench’d for all his dirty Doings.’

This, as I have said, shows the humorous side of imprisonment for debt. An unimpeachable and veracious authority, one who only gave dry statistics, and did not draw upon his imagination for his facts, was John Howard, the philanthropist, who published, in 1777, ‘The State of the Prisons in England and Wales.’ From his report we learn that the allowance to debtors was a penny loaf a day--and when we consider that, during the French war, bread at one time rose to a price equivalent to our half-crown per quartern loaf, it could hardly be called a sufficient diet. But the City of London, generous then, as ever, supplemented this with a daily (? weekly) supply of sixteen stone, or one hundred and twenty-eight pounds, of beef, which, as Howard gives the average of debtors in two years (1775-6) at thirty-eight, would be more than ample for their needs--and there were other charities amounting to fifty or sixty pounds a year--but, before they were discharged, they were compelled to pay the keeper a fee of eight shillings and tenpence.

In the Fleet Prison they had no allowance, but, if they made an affidavit that they were not worth five pounds, and could not subsist without charity, they had divided amongst them the proceeds of the begging-box and grate, and the donations which were sent to the prison. Of these, Howard says, at the time of his visit, there were seventeen. But the other prisoners who had any money had every facility afforded them to spend it. There was a tap, at which they could purchase whatever liquor they required; there was a billiard-table, and, in the yard, they could play at skittles, Mississippi, fives, tennis, &c. On Monday nights there was a wine club, and on Thursday nights a beer club, both of which usually lasted until one or two in the morning; and pretty scenes of riot and drunkenness took place. The prisoners were allowed to have their wives and children to live with them.

Ludgate had ceased to exist, and the debtors were transferred to New Ludgate, in Bishopsgate Street. It was a comparatively aristocratic debtors’ prison, for it was only for debtors who were free of the City, for clergymen, proctors, and attorneys. Here, again, the generosity of the City stepped in; and, for an average number of prisoners of twenty-five, ten stone, or eighty pounds of beef, were given weekly, together with a daily penny loaf for each prisoner. The lord mayor and sheriffs sent them coals, and Messrs. Calvert, the brewers, sent weekly two barrels of small beer, besides which, there were some bequests.

The Poultry Compter was in the hands of a keeper who had bought the place for life, and was so crowded that some of the prisoners had to sleep on shelves over the others, and neither straw nor bedding was allowed them. The City gave a penny loaf daily to the prisoners, and remitted for their benefit the rent of thirty pounds annually; the Calverts also sent them beer. At Howard’s visits, eight men had their wives and children with them.

Wood Street Compter was not a pleasant abode, for Howard says the place swarmed with bugs. There were thirty-nine debtors, and their allowance was a daily penny loaf from the City, two barrels of beer weekly from the Calverts; the sheriffs gave them thirty-two pounds of beef on Saturdays, and for some years a benevolent baker sent them, weekly, a large leg and shin of beef.

At Whitechapel was a prison for debtors, in the liberty and manor of Stepney and Hackney, but it was only for very small debtors, those owing above two pounds, and under five. Howard’s story of this prison is a very sad one, the occupants being so very poor:

‘The Master’s-side Prisoners have four sizeable chambers fronting the road--_i.e._, two on each storey. They pay two shillings and sixpence a week, and lie two in a bed; two beds in a room. The Common-side Debtors are in two long rooms in the Court Yard, near the Tap-room. Men in one room, women in the other: the Court Yard in common. They hang out a begging-box from a little closet in the front of the House, and attend it in turn. It brings them only a few pence a day, and of this pittance none partake but those who, at entrance, have paid the keeper two shillings and sixpence, and treated the Prisoners with half a gallon of beer. The last time I was there, no more than three had purchased this privilege....

‘At my first visit there were, on the Common-side, two Prisoners in Hammocks, sick and very poor. No chaplain. A compassionate Man, who is not a regular Clergyman, sometimes preaches to them on Sunday, and gives them some small relief. Lady Townsend sends a Guinea twice a year, which her Servant distributes equally among the Prisoners.

‘As Debtors here are generally very poor, I was surprised to see, once, ten or twelve noisy men at skittles; but the Turnkey said they were only visitants. I found they were admitted here as at another public-house. No Prisoners were at play with them.’

At St. Catherine’s, without the Tower, was another small debtors’ prison. This parish was a ‘_peculiar_,’ the Bishop of London having no jurisdiction over it, and the place was under the especial patronage of the Queens of England ever since the time of Matilda, the wife of Stephen, who founded a hospital there, now removed to Regent’s Park. It was a wonderful little parish, for there people could take sanctuary--and there also were tried civil and ecclesiastical cases. Howard says that the prison for debtors had been rebuilt seven years before he wrote. It was a small house of two storeys; two rooms on a floor. In April, 1774, there was a keeper, but no prisoners. ‘I have since called two or three times, and always found the House uninhabited.’

No notice of debtors’ prisons would be complete without mention of the King’s Bench, which was in Southwark. Howard reports:

‘The Prisoners are numerous. At more than one of my visits, some had the Small Pox. It was so crowded this last summer, that a Prisoner paid five shillings a week for half a bed, and many lay in the chapel. In May, 1766, the number of Prisoners within the Walls was three hundred and ninety-five, and, by an accurate list which I procured, their wives (including a few only called so) were two hundred and seventy-nine, children seven hundred and twenty-five--total, one thousand and four; about two-thirds of these were in the Prison.’

The prisoners had, as in the Fleet, their weekly wine and beer clubs, and they also indulged in similar outdoor sports. The Marshalsea and Horsemonger Lane gaol complete the list of London debtors’ prisons.

Howard’s description of the county prisons is something appalling. Gaol-fever, distemper, or small-pox being recorded against most of them. At Chelmsford there had been no divine service for above a year past, except to condemned criminals. At Warwick the debtors’ common day-room was the hall, which was also used as a chapel. At Derby a person went about the country, at Christmas-time, to gentlemen’s houses, and begged for the benefit of the debtors. The donations were entered in a book, and signed by each donor. About fourteen pounds were generally collected in this manner.

Chesterfield gaol was the property of the Duke of Portland, and Howard describes it thus:

‘Only one room, with a cellar under it, to which the Prisoners occasionally descend through a hole in the floor. The cellar had not been cleaned for many months. The Prison door had not been opened for several weeks, when I was there first. There were four Prisoners, who told me they were almost starved; one of them said, with tears in his eyes, “he had not eaten a morsel that day,”--it was afternoon. They had borrowed a book of Dr. Manton’s; one of them was reading it to the rest. Each of them had a wife, and they had, in the whole, thirteen children, cast on their respective parishes. Two had their groats from the Creditors, and out of that pittance they relieved the other two. No allowance: no straw: no firing: water a halfpenny for about three gallons, put in (as other things are) at the window. Gaoler lives distant.’

At Salisbury gaol, just outside the prison gate, a round staple was fixed in the wall, through which was passed a chain, at each end of which was a debtor padlocked by the leg, who offered for sale to the passers-by, nets, laces, purses, etc., made in the prison. At Knaresborough the debtors’ prison is thus described:

‘Of difficult access; the door about four feet from the ground. Only one room, about fourteen feet by twelve. Earth floor: no fireplace: very offensive: a common sewer from the town running through it uncovered. I was informed that an Officer confined here some years since, for only a few days, took in with him a dog to defend him from vermin; but the dog was soon destroyed, and the Prisoner’s face much disfigured by them.’

The gaolers were not always the most gentle of men, as may be seen by the trial of one Acton, deputy-keeper and turnkey of the Marshalsea, for the murder of a prisoner named Thomas Bliss. The indictment will briefly tell the story:

‘That the said _William Acton_, being Deputy Keeper, under _John Darby_, of the said prison, being a person of inhuman and cruel disposition, did, on the 21st of October, in the Year of our Lord, 1726, cruelly, barbarously, and feloniously Beat, Assault, and Wound the said _Thomas Bliss_ in the said Prison, _viz._, in the Parish of Saint George’s-in-the-Fields, in the Borough of _Southwark_, in the County of _Surrey_, and did put Irons and Fetters of great and immense weight upon his legs, and an Iron Instrument, and Engine of Torture, upon the Head of the said _Thomas Bliss_, called the Scull-cap, and also Thumb-screws upon his Thumbs; and the said _Thomas Bliss_ was so wounded, fettered, tortured and tormented in the Strong Room of the said Prison (which is a dangerous, damp, noisome, filthy, and unwholesome place) did put, and him did there detain several days; by means of which excruciating Tortures, close Confinement, Duress, and cruel Abuses, the said _Thomas Bliss_ got so ill an Habit of Body, that he continued in a languishing Condition till the 25th Day of _March_ following, and then died.’

Although the facts of the indictment were fully borne out by the evidence, the jury acquitted Acton. I should mention that Bliss had twice attempted to escape from the prison.

Let us pass to a pleasanter theme, and see what was the inner life of a debtor’s prison about 1750, the story of which is told in a little book undated.[50] The foot-notes are taken from the book.

* * * * *

Close by the Borders of a slimy Flood,
Which now in secret rumbles through the Mud;
(Tho’ heretofore it roll’d expos’d to light,
Obnoxious to th’ offended City’s Sight).[51]

Twin Arches now the sable Stream enclose,
Upon whose Basis late a Fabrick rose;
In whose extended oblong Boundaries, }
Are Shops and Sheds, and Stalls of all Degrees, }
For Fruit, Meat, Herbage, Trinkets, Pork and Peas. }
A prudent City Scheme, and kindly meant;
The Town’s oblig’d, their Worships touch the Rent.
Near this commodious Market’s miry Verge,
The Prince of Prisons stands, compact and large;
Where by the Jigger’s[52] more than magick Charm,
Kept from the Power of doing Good--or Harm,
Relenting Captives inly ruminate
Misconduct past, and curse their present State;
Tho’ sorely griev’d, few are so void of Grace,
As not to wear a seeming cheerful face:
In Drink or Sports ungrateful Thoughts must die,
For who can bear Heart-wounding Calumny?
Therefore Cabals engage of various Sorts,
To walk, to drink, or play at different Sports,
Here oblong Table’s verdant Plain,
The ivory Ball bounds and rebounds again[53];
There at Backgammon two sit _tête-à-tête_,
And curse alternately their adverse fate;
These are at Cribbage, those at Whist engag’d,
And, as they lose, by turns become enrag’d;
Some of more sedentary Temper, read
Chance-medley Books, which duller Dulness breeds;
Or Politick in Coffee-room, some pore
The Papers and Advertisements thrice o’er;
Warm’d with the Alderman,[54] some sit up late,
To fix th’ Insolvent Bill, and Nation’s fate:
Hence, Knotty Points at different Tables rise,
And either Party’s wond’rous, wond’rous wise;
Some of low Taste, ring Hand-Bells, direful Noise!
And interrupt their Fellows’ harmless Joys;
Disputes more noisy now a Quarrel breeds,
And Fools on both Sides fall to Loggerheads;
Till, wearied with persuasive Thumps and Blows,
They drink, are Friends, as tho’ they ne’er were Foes.
Without distinction, intermixed is seen,
A ‘Squire dirty, and Mechanick clean:
The Spendthrift Heir, who in his Chariot roll’d,
All his Possessions gone, Reversions sold,
Now mean, as one profuse, the stupid Sot
Sits by a Runner’s Side,[55] and shules[56] a Pot.

Some Sots, ill-mannered, drunk, a harmless Flight!
Rant noisy thro’ the Galleries all Night;
For which, if Justice had been done of late,
The Pump[57] had been three pretty Masters’ Fate,
With Stomach’s empty, and Heads full of Care,
Some Wretches swill the Pump, and walk the Bare.[58]
Within whose ample Oval is a Court, }
Where the more Active and Robust resort, }
And glowing, exercise a manly Sport. }
(Strong Exercise with mod’rate Food is good,
It drives in sprightful Streams the circling Blood;)
While these, with Rackets strike the flying Ball,
Some play at Nine-pins, Wrestlers take a Fall;
Beneath a Tent some drink, and some above
Are slily in their Chambers making Love;
Venus and Bacchus each keeps here a Shrine,
And many Vot’ries have to Love and Wine.

Such the Amusements of this merry Jail,
Which you’ll not reach, if Friends or Money fail;
For e’er it’s threefold Gates it will unfold,
The destin’d Captive must produce some Gold;
Four Guineas at the least for diff’rent Fees,
Compleats your _Habeas_, and commands the Keys;
Which done, and safely in, no more you’re led,
If you have Cash, you’ll find a Friend and Bed;
But, that deficient, you’ll but ill betide,
Lie in the Hall,[59] perhaps on Common Side.[60]

But now around you gazing Jiggers swarm,[61]
To draw your Picture, that’s their usual Term;
Your Form and Features strictly they survey,
Then leave you (if you can) to run away.

To them succeeds the Chamberlain, to see }
If you and he are likely to agree; }
Whether you’ll tip,[62] and pay you’re Master’s Fee.[63] }
Ask him how much? ‘Tis one Pound, six, and eight;
And, if you want, he’ll not the Twopence bate;
When paid, he puts on an important Face,
And shows Mount-scoundrel[64] for a charming Place;
You stand astonish’d at the darken’d Hole,
Sighing, the Lord have Mercy on my Soul!
And ask, Have you no other Rooms, Sir, pray?
Perhaps inquire what Rent, too, you’re to pay:
Entreating that he would a better seek;
The Rent (cries gruffly) ‘s Half-a-Crown a Week.
The Rooms have all a Price, some good, some bad,
But pleasant ones, at present, can’t be had;
This Room, in my Opinion’s not amiss; }
Then cross his venal Palm with Half a Piece,[65] }
He strait accosts you with another face. }

How your Affairs may stand, I do not know;
But here, Sir, Cash does frequently run low.
I’ll serve you--don’t be lavish--only mum!
Take my Advice, I’ll help you to a Chum.[66]
A Gentleman, Sir, see--and hear him speak,
With him you’ll pay but fifteen Pence a Week,[67]
Yet his Apartments on the Upper Floor,[68]
Well-furnished, clean and nice; who’d wish for more?
A Gentleman of Wit and Judgement too!
Who knows the Place,[69] what’s what, and who is who;
My Praise, alas! can’t equal his Deserts;
In brief--you’ll find him, Sir, a Man of Parts.

Thus, while his fav’rite Friend he recommends,
He compasses at once their several Ends;
The new-come Guest is pleas’d that he shou’d meet
So kind a Chamberlain, a Chum so neat;
But, as conversing thus, they nearer come,
Behold before his Door the destin’d Chum.
Why he stood there, himself you’d scarcely tell,
But there he had not stood had Things gone well;
Had one poor Half-penny but blest his Fob, }
Or if in prospect he had seen a Job, }
H’ had strain’d his Credit for a Dram of Bob.[70] }
But now, in pensive Mood, with Head downcast,
His Eyes transfix’d as tho’ they look’d their last;
One Hand his open Bosom lightly held,
And one an empty Breeches Pocket fill’d;
His Dowlas Shirt no Stock, nor Cravat, bore,
And on his Head, no Hat, nor Wig he wore,
But a once black shag Cap, surcharg’d with Sweat;
His Collar, here a Hole, and there a Pleat,
Both grown alike in Colour, that--alack!
This neither now was White, nor was that Black,
But matched his dirty yellow Beard so true,
They form’d a threefold Cast of Brickdust Hue.
Meagre his Look, and in his nether Jaw
Was stuff’d an eleemosynary Chaw.[71]
(Whose Juice serves present Hunger to asswage,
Which yet returns again with tenfold Rage.)
His Coat, which catch’d the Droppings from his Chin,
Was clos’d, at Bottom, with a Corking Pin;

* * * * *

Loose were his Knee-bands, and unty’d his Hose,
Coax’d[72] in the Heel, in pulling o’er his Toes;
Which, spite of all his circumspective Care,
Did thro’ his broken, dirty Shoes appear.

Just in this hapless Trim, and pensive Plight,
The old Collegian[73] stood confess’d to Sight;
Whom, when our new-come Guest at first beheld,
He started back, with great Amazement fill’d;
Turns to the Chamberlain, says, Bless my Eyes! }
Is this the Man you told me was so nice? }
I meant, his Room was so, Sir, he replies; }
The Man is now in Dishabille and Dirt,
He shaves To-morrow, tho’, and turns his Shirt;
Stand not at Distance, I’ll present you--Come,
My Friend, how is’t? I’ve brought you here a Chum;
One that’s a Gentleman; a worthy Man,
And you’ll oblige me, serve him all you can.

The Chums salute, the old Collegian first,
Bending his Body almost to the Dust;
Upon his Face unusual Smiles appear,
And long-abandon’d Hope his Spirits cheer;
Thought he, Relief’s at hand, and I shall eat; }
Will you walk in, good Sir, and take a seat? }
We have what’s decent here, though not compleat. }
As for myself, I scandalize the Room,
But you’ll consider, Sir, that I’m at Home;
Tho’ had I thought a Stranger to have seen,
I should have ordered Matters to’ve been clean;
But here, amongst ourselves, we never mind,
Borrow or lend--reciprocally kind;
Regard not Dress, tho’, Sir, I have a Friend
Has Shirts enough, and, if you please, I’ll send.
No Ceremony, Sir,--You give me Pain,
I have a clean Shirt, Sir, but have you twain?
Oh yes, and twain to boot, and those twice told,
Besides, I thank my Stars, a Piece of Gold.
Why then, I’ll be so free, Sir, as to borrow,
I mean a Shirt, Sir--only till To-morrow.
You’re welcome, Sir;--I’m glad you are so free;
Then turns the old Collegian round with Glee,
Whispers the Chamberlain with secret Joy,
We live To-night!--I’m sure he’ll pay his Foy;
Turns to his Chum again with Eagerness,
And thus bespeaks him with his best Address:

See, Sir, how pleasant, what a Prospect’s there;
Below you see them sporting on the Bare;
Above, the Sun, Moon, Stars, engage the Eye,
And those Abroad can’t see beyond the Sky;
These Rooms are better far than those beneath,
A clearer Light, a sweeter Air we breathe;
A decent Garden does our Window grace
With Plants untainted, undisturb’d the Glass;
In short, Sir, nothing can be well more sweet;
But I forgot--perhaps you chuse to eat,
Tho’, for my Part, I’ve nothing of my own,
To-day I scraped my Yesterday’s Blade-bone;
But we can send--Ay, Sir, with all my Heart,
(Then, very opportunely, enters Smart[74])
Oh, here’s our Cook, he dresses all Things well;
Will you sup here, or do you chuse the Cell?
There’s mighty good Accommodations there,
Rooms plenty, or a Box in Bartholm’[75] Fair;
There, too, we can divert you, and may show
Some Characters are worth your while to know.
Replies the new Collegian, Nothing more }
I wish to see, be pleas’d to go before; }
And, Smart, provide a handsome Dish for Four. }

* * * * *

But I forget; the Stranger and his Chum,
With t’other two, to Barth’lomew Fair are come;
Where, being seated, and the supper past,
They drink so deep, and put about so fast,
That, e’re the warning Watchman walks about,
With dismal tone Repeating, Who goes out?[76]
Ere St. Paul’s Clock no longer will withold
From striking Ten, and the voice cries--All told;[77]
Ere this, our new Companions, everyone
In roaring Mirth and Wine so far were gone,
That ev’ry Sense from ev’ry Part was fled,
And were with Difficulty got to Bed;
Where, in the Morn, recover’d from his Drink,
The new Collegian may have Time to think;
And recollecting how he spent the Night,
Explore his Pockets, and not find a Doit.

Too thoughtless Man! to lavish thus away
A Week’s support in less than half a Day,
But ’tis a Curse attends this wretched Place,
To pay for dear-bought Wit in little Space,
Till Time shall come when this new Tenant here,
Will in his turn shule for a Pot of Beer,
Repent the melting of his Cash too fast,
And Snap at Strangers for a Night’s Repast.

JONAS HANWAY.

If Jonas Hanway had lived before Fuller, he certainly would have been enshrined among his ‘Worthies;’ and it is astonishing to find how comparatively ignorant of him and his works are even well-read men. Ask one about him, and he will reply that he was a philanthropist, but he will hardly be able to say in what way he was philanthropic: ask another, and the reply will be that he was the man who introduced umbrellas into England--but it is very questionable if he could tell whence he got the umbrella to introduce. But in his time he was a man of mark, and his memory deserves more than a short notice in ‘Chalmers,’ the ‘Biographie Universelle,’ or any other biographical dictionary.

He was born at Portsmouth on the 12th of August, 1712, in the reign of ‘good Queen Anne.’ History is silent as to his pedigree, save and except that his father was connected with the navy, and was for some years store-keeper to the dockyard at Portsmouth, and his uncle by the father’s side was a Major John Hanway, who translated some odes of Horace, &c. His father died whilst Jonas was still a boy, and Mrs. Hanway had much trouble to bring up her young family, who all turned out well, and were prosperous in after life: one son, Thomas, filling the post of commander-in-chief of his Majesty’s ships at Plymouth, and afterwards commissioner of the dockyard at Chatham.

On his father’s death, his mother removed to London, where, somehow or other, she brought up her children by her own exertions, and with such care and affection that Jonas never spoke, or wrote, of his mother but in terms of the highest reverence and gratitude. He was sent to school, where he was not only educated commercially, but classically. Still, he had his bread to win, and, when he was seventeen years of age, he was sent to Lisbon, which he reached June, 1729, and was bound apprentice to a merchant, under whose auspices he developed the business qualities which afterwards stood him in good stead. At the end of his apprenticeship he set up in business for himself in Lisbon, but soon removed to the wider field of London. What pursuit he followed there, neither he, nor any biographer of his, has told us, but in 1743 he accepted the offer of a partnership in Mr. Dingley’s house at St. Petersburg.

What a difference in the voyage from London to St. Petersburg, then and now! Now, overland: it only takes two days and a half.

Then, in April, 1743, he embarked on the Thames in a crazy old tub, bound for Riga, and got to Elsinore in May. As everything then was done in a leisurely manner, they stopped there for some days, arriving at Riga by the end of May, having taken twenty-six days to go from Elsinore to Riga, now done by steam, under fair conditions, in two days.

Here he found, as most people do, the Russian spring as hot as he ever remembered summer in Portugal, and was most hospitably entertained by the British factors. But Russia was at war with Sweden, and, although he had plenty of letters of recommendation, the Governor of Riga would not allow him to proceed on his journey, until he had communicated with the authorities at St. Petersburg, thus causing a delay of a fortnight, and he did not leave until the 7th of June. His sojourn at Riga, however, was not lost, for he kept his eyes open, and looked about him.

Travelling by post in Russia, even now, is not a luxury; it must have been ten times worse then, when he started on his journey in his sleeping-wagon, which was ‘made of leather, resembling a cradle, and hung upon braces,’ and his report of his journey was that ‘the post-horses are exceedingly bad, but as the stages are short, and the houses clean, the inconvenience is supportable.’ He made the journey in four days.

On his arrival, he soon set to work on the business that he came out to execute, namely, the opening of trade through the Caspian Sea to Persia, a journey which involved crossing Russia in Europe from the north-west to the south-east. This route had already been trodden by a sailor named Elton, who had spent some years among the nomadic Tartar tribes, and had, in 1739, descended the Volga with a cargo of goods, intending to go to Mesched; but he sold them before he reached there, at Resched, for a good price, and obtained leave to trade for the future. He returned to St. Petersburg, went again to Persia, and remained there in the service of Nadir Shah. It was to supply his defection that Jonas Hanway went out to Russia.

On the 10th of September, 1743, he set out on his veritably perilous journey, and it is really worth while to describe the despatch of goods in Russia at that day. ‘In Russia carriages for merchandize are drawn only by one horse. These vehicles are nine or ten feet long, and two or three broad, and are principally composed of two strong poles, supported by four wheels, of near an equal size, and about as high as the fore wheels of our ordinary coaches, but made very slight, many of the rounds of the wheels are of a single piece of wood, and open, in one part, for near an inch, and some of them are not shod with iron.

‘The first care is to lay the bales as high as the cart will admit on a bed of mats of the thickest sort. Besides the original package, which is calculated to stand the weather, the bales are usually covered with very thick mats, and over these other mats are laid to prevent the friction of the ropes; lastly, there is another covering of mats, in the want of raw cowhides, which are always best to defend goods from rain, or from the snow, which, when it melts, is yet more penetrating. Each bale is sealed up with a leaden seal, to prevent its being opened on the road, or any of the goods vended in the Country, that is, when they are intended for Persia....

‘The Caravans generally set out about twelve, both in the night and day, except in the heat of summer. In the winter, between St. Petersburg and Moscow, they usually travel seventy wersts[78] (about forty-seven English miles) in twenty-four hours, but from Moscow to Zaritzen only forty or fifty wersts: in summer their stages are shorter. Great part of the last-mentioned road being through an uninhabited country, makes the Carriers cautious not to jade their horses. Every time they set out, the conductors ought to count the loads. When necessity requires that the Caravan should be drawn within fences, or into yards, the heads of the waggons ought to stand towards the door in regular order, and a guard, who will keep a better watch than an ordinary carrier, should be set over it: for want of this precaution, whole Caravans in Russia have been sometimes consumed by fire. It is most eligible to stop in the field, where the usual method is to form the Carriages into a ring, and bring the horses, as well as the men, within it, always observing to keep in such a position as best to prevent an attack, or repulse an enemy.

‘The Khalmucks on the banks of the Volga are ever ready to embrace an opportunity of plundering and destroying passengers; therefore, when there is any occasion to travel on those banks, which should be avoided as much as possible, an advance guard of at least four Cossacks is of great use, especially to patrole in the night; it is not often practised, but I found it indispensably necessary when I travelled on those banks....

‘A hundred carriages take up two-thirds of a mile in length, so that, when no horseman is at hand to spread the alarm, the rear might be easily carried off. They have not even a trumpet, horn, or other instrument for this purpose; they trust in providence, and think any care of this kind unnecessary, though the neglect has sometimes proved of fatal consequence.’

In this primitive style he set forth on his trading venture to Persia, taking with him a clerk, a Russian, as menial servant, a Tartar boy, and a soldier, by way of guard. He had ‘a convenient sleeping-waggon’ for himself, and another for his clerk--the Russ, the Tartar, and the soldier evidently having to shift as the drivers of the twenty loads of goods (consisting of thirty-seven bales of English cloth) did. It is interesting to follow out this little venture. The caravan started on the 1st of September, 1743, and ten days afterwards he set out to join it, which he did at Tver, arriving at Moscow on the 20th of September.

Here he looked about him, saw the Great Bell, &c. received no little hospitality, and repaired the defects of his caravan, starting again on the 24th of September, and his instructions to his limited suite were to avoid all occasion of dispute, and, should such unfortunately arise, he should be informed of it, in order that he might deal with it according to the best of his judgment. But he went among the Tartars without any misadventure, noting some very curious facts, until he came to Tzaritzin, on the Volga, whence he proposed to commence his somewhat perilous journey by water, to the Caspian Sea. He arrived at Tzaritzin on the 9th of October, but, as there was not the same pushing and driving in business then as now, he stopped there for a month to recruit, and hire a vessel. He succeeded in getting one, such a thing as it was, but then he only paid a nominal sum for it. As he justly observes: ‘The reader will imagine that forty roubles[79] cannot purchase a good vessel; however, this price produced the best I could find. Their decks were only loose pieces of the barks of trees; they have no knees, and but few beams: hardly any pitch or tar is used, in place of it are long slips of bark, which they nail over the gaping seams, to prevent the loose and bad corking (caulking) from falling out. Instead of iron bolts, they have spikes of deal with round heads. The method of keeping them clear of water is by a large scoop, which is suspended by the beam over the well-way, and through a scuttle at a proper height they scoop out the water with great facility.’

He bought two of these A.1. vessels, and put a crew of five fishermen on board each, besides his own suite, and, because of the pirates who infested those waters, he hired a guard of six soldiers. By-the-way, they had a rough and ready way of dealing with these pirates when they did catch them. ‘As their cruelties are very great, so is the punishment inflicted on them when they are taken. A float is built, in size according to the number of delinquents, and a gallows erected on it, to contain a sufficient number of iron hooks, on which they are hung alive, by the ribs. The float is launched into the stream, with labels over their heads, signifying their crimes; and orders are given to all towns and villages on the borders of the river, upon pain of death, not only to afford no relief to any of these wretches, but to push off the float, should it land near them. Sometimes their partners in wickedness meet them, and, if there are any signs of life, take him down, otherwise they shoot them dead; but, if they are catched in these acts of illegal mercy, they are hung up without the ceremony of a trial, as happened about eight years ago. They tell me of one of these miscreants who had the fortune to disengage himself from the hook, and though naked, and trembling with pain and loss of blood, he got ashore. The first object he saw who could afford him any relief was a poor shepherd, whose brains he beat out with a stone, and took his clothes. These malefactors sometimes hang thus three, four, and five days alive. The pain generally produces a raging fever, in which they utter the most horrid imprecations, and implore the relief of water, or other small liquors.’

He was observant, and, on his journey down the Volga, he noted many things which throw much light on the social life in Russia of these days. Take for instance the following: ‘The 14th of October I sent letters to my friends, by messengers who are appointed to attend a box of grapes, which is sent from Astrachan to the Empress’s Court every three days during the season. It is carried by two horses, supported in the manner of a litter. The grapes are preserved in sand, but, at best, are ill worth the expense of the conveyance for one thousand two hundred English miles.’

He sailed from Tzaritzin on the 14th of October, and on the 19th of the same month he reached Astrachan, where he was kindly received by Mr. George Thompson, agent to the British merchants trading to Persia; and also by the Russian governor (a quondam page to Peter the Great) who gave him many assurances that every help should be afforded him in his trade with Persia--but candidly informed him what rogues the Armenian traders were: ‘They are the most crafty people in all Asia, and delight in fraud. Let them get fifty per Cent. in a fair way, they are not contented without cheating five, and the five is sweeter than the fifty.’

Lapow, even then, was a recognized institution in Russia, for Hanway observes, ‘The Officers of the the Admiralty and Custom-House of Astrachan have very small salaries, which is the case in all other places in Russia: so that, instead of doing their duty to despatch business, they often seek pretences to protract it, in order to obtain the more considerable presents. Upon these occasions French Brandy, white wine, hats, stockings, ribbons, and such like are acceptable.’ Now-a-days, things are managed in a less cumbrous form. Rouble Notes take the place of gross material--but the Russian Official is unchanged.

Again, ‘Whilst I was busied in getting what informations were necessary, the governor invited me to a feast, at which there were nearly a hundred dishes; here I saw a singular specimen of Russian intemperance, for there were above thirty people who drank to excess, in goblets, a kind of cherry brandy. This feast was made for the birth of his granddaughter, on which occasion the guests presented an offering each according to his rank. This is a civil way of levying a heavy tax on the merchants, and a custom, tho’ not elegant, less absurd than that of some politer countries; for here, without disguise or ceremony, you leave one or two ducats, or some richer present on the lady’s bed, who sits up with great formality to be saluted.’

From Astrachan he went to Yerkie, at the mouth of the Volga, and virtually on the Caspian Sea, whence he set sail on the 22nd of November, arriving at Astrabad Bay on the 18th of December, where his vessel was taken for a pirate, and signal fires were, in consequence, lit on the hill-tops, etc. So he lay at anchor for a few days, employing his men in packing his goods so that they might be easily carried on land; and he gives us a curious insight into the life of sailors of that period.

‘The 25th being Christmas Day, I excused the seamen from the package of cloth, and prevailed on them to hear prayers, and a sermon. English seamen, of all mankind, seem the most indifferent with regard to religious duties; but their indifference is more the effect of want of reflection than the irreligious carelessness of their leaders. It is not to be imagined they would fight less if they prayed more; at least we find the praying warriors in Cromwell’s days fought as if they were sure of becoming saints in heaven. Certain it is our seamen do not entertain the same impressions of religion as the common run of labouring people.’

Hanway had been warned that he must take care of himself at Astrabad; that, probably, he would be robbed, and most certainly cheated; but never having received such treatment, and with his conscious faith of being an honest Englishman, he gave but little heed to the caution, but spent many days on ship-board, making up his merchandize into suitable packages for land carriage, and when he did land, he went in state, on horseback, to visit the governor, taking with him the invariable Oriental present, which, in his case, consisted of fine cloth, and loaves of sugar. He was kindly received by the governor, but soon having experienced the deceit and duplicity of the people, he hurried forward his departure for Mesched, sending ten camel loads of goods in advance. Luckily he did so, for the next day the town was besieged by Turcomans, who wanted to get possession of the Shah’s treasure, then in Astrabad, as well as the English goods, which presented an almost irresistible temptation to them.

Hanway was advised to disguise himself and fly, but he was an Englishman, and had the pluck of his race; so he concluded to stay, in spite of the objurgations and maledictions of some of the inhabitants, who cursed him as being the cause of their misfortunes. The town made but a feeble resistance, and, soon after its fall, Hanway received a visit from the captors, the story of which he thus tells: