unaccountably full of thoughts about her. I had been making some
purchases in Regent Street, and on my way home in a cab was wondering,
as I was driven through the crowd of vehicles, if I should ever see her
in her well-known carriage again, with its snuff-coloured ‘Petersham
brown’ body, the long brown coats, the silver hat cords of the coachman
and footman, the half-crescents of white leather which formed part of
the harness across the foreheads of the horses.
“On the following day I received the sorrowful news that Lady
Harrington was dead at the time I had thought so much of her, and that
I had lost a friendship for which Time can never lessen my gratitude.”
CARABOO
On Thursday evening, 3 April, 1817, the overseer of the parish of
Almondsbury, in Gloucestershire, called at Knole Park, the residence
of Samuel Worall, Esq., to inform him that a young female had entered
a cottage in the village, and had made signs to express her desire to
sleep there; but not understanding her language, the good folk of the
cottage communicated with the overseer, and he, as perplexed as the
cottagers, went for counsel to the magistrate. Mr. Worall ordered that
she should be brought to Knole, and presently the overseer returned
with a slim damsel, dressed poorly but quaintly, with a sort of turban
about her head, not precisely beautiful, but with very intelligent
speaking eyes.
Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Worall could make heads or tails of what she said.
He had a Greek valet who knew or could recognize most of the languages
spoken in the Levant, but he also was at fault; he could not catch a
single word of her speech that was familiar to him. By signs she was
questioned as to whether she had any papers, and she produced from her
pocket a bad sixpence and a few halfpence. Under her arm she carried
a small bundle containing some necessaries, and a piece of soap wound
up in a bit of linen. Her dress consisted of a black stuff gown with a
muslin frill round her neck, a black cotton shawl twisted about her
head, and a red and black shawl thrown over her shoulders, leather
shoes, and black worsted stockings.
The general impression produced from her person and manners was
favourable. Her head was small, her eyes black, hair also black; the
forehead was low, nose short, in complexion a brunette. The cheeks were
faintly tinged with red. The mouth was rather wide, teeth pearly white,
lips large and full, the underlip slightly projecting. The chin small
and round. Her height was 5 ft. 2 in. Her hands were clean and small
and well cared for. Obviously they had not been accustomed to labour.
She wore no ear-rings, but the marks of having worn them remained. Her
age appeared to be twenty-five.
After consultation, it was thought advisable to send her to the village
inn; and as Mrs. Worall was interested in her, she sent her own maid
and the footman to attend the stranger to the public-house, it being
late in the evening, and to request the landlady to give her a private
room and a comfortable bed.
The young woman seemed to be greatly fatigued and walked with
difficulty. When shown the room in which she was to sleep, she prepared
to lie down on the mat upon the floor; whereupon the landlady put her
own little girl into the bed, so as to explain its purport to her
guest. The stranger then undressed and went to bed.
Next morning Mrs. Worall went to the inn at seven o’clock and found her
sitting dejectedly by the fire. The clergyman of the parish had brought
some books of travel and illustrated geographies to show her, so that
she might give some clue as to whence she came. She manifested pleasure
at the pictures of China and the Chinese.
[Illustration: CARABOO PRINCESS OF JAVASU,
_alias MARY BAKER_.]
Mrs. Worall now took her to Knole, where by signs, pointing to herself
and uttering the word Caraboo, she explained to her hostess that this
was her name. At dinner she declined all animal food, and took nothing
to drink but water, showing marked disgust at beer, cyder, and meat.
Next day she was conveyed to Bristol and examined before the mayor
and magistrates, but nothing was made out concerning her, and she was
consigned to St. Peter’s Hospital for Vagrants.
There she remained till the ensuing Monday--three days--refusing food
of every description. On that day Mrs. Worall went into Bristol and
visited her at the hospital. The friendless situation of the foreign
lady had in the interim become public, and several gentlemen had called
upon her, bringing with them foreigners of their acquaintance, in the
hope of discovering who she was. Caraboo expressed lively delight at
seeing Mrs. Worall again, and that lady, deeply touched, removed her
from the hospital to the office of Mr. Worall, in Bristol, where she
remained for ten days under the care of the housekeeper.
Daily efforts were made to discover her language and country, but
without effect. At last a Portuguese of the name of Manuel Eynesso, who
happened to be in Bristol, had an interview, and he professed that he
was able to interpret what she said. The tale he revealed was that she
was a person of consequence in her own country, and had been decoyed
from an island in the East Indies, brought to England against her
wishes, and then deserted. He further added that her language was not a
pure dialect, but was a mixture of several tongues spoken in Sumatra.
On this Mrs. Worall removed Caraboo to Knole, and from 3 April to 6
June her hostess, the whole family, and the domestics treated her with
the utmost consideration and regard.
Among the visitors at Knole was a gentleman who had made many voyages
in the East Indies, and he took a lively interest in the girl, and
conversed with her, partly by word of mouth and partly--when at fault
for words--by signs.
It must have been an interesting sight, the travelled gentleman
interrogating Caraboo and taking notes of her reply, with an admiring
circle around of the family and visitors, wondering at his linguistic
acquirements and facility of speech in Oriental tongues. This traveller
committed to writing the following particulars obtained from Caraboo.
She was daughter of a person of high rank, of Chinese origin, by a
_Mandin_, or Malay woman, who was killed in war between the Boogoos
(cannibals) and the Mandins (Malays). Whilst walking in her garden at
Javasu attended by three _sammen_ (women), she was seized by pirates
commanded by a man named Chee-ming, bound hand and foot, her mouth
covered, and carried off. She herself in her struggles wounded two of
Chee-ming’s men with her creese; one of these died, the other recovered
by the assistance of a _justee_ (surgeon). After eleven days she was
sold to the captain of a brig called the _Tappa-Boo_. A month later
she arrived at a port, presumably Batavia, remained there two days,
and then started for England, which was reached in eleven weeks. In
consequence of ill-usage by the crew, she made her escape to shore. She
had had a dress of silk embroidered and interwoven with gold, but she
had been induced to exchange this with a woman in a cottage whose doors
were painted green, but the situation of which she could not describe.
The garments she now wore were those she had received from the cottager.
After wandering over the country for six weeks, she had arrived at
Almondsbury. She spoke of her mother’s teeth as artificially blackened
(i.e. by chewing betelnut); her face and arms were painted, and she
wore a jewel in her nose, and a gold chain from it was attached to her
left temple. Her father had three more wives, and he was usually borne
upon the shoulders of _macratoos_ (common men) in a palanquin.
She described the dress she wore at home. Seven peacock’s feathers
adorned the right side of her cap or turban. Upon being furnished with
calico, she made herself a dress in the style she had been accustomed
to. It was short in the skirt, the sleeves wide and long enough
to reach to the ground. A broad embroidered band passed round her
waist, and the fringe of the skirt, of the sleeves and the bosom, was
embroidered. She wore no stockings, and was furnished with sandals of
Roman fashion. She sometimes twisted her hair and rolled it up at the
top of her head and fastened it with a skewer.
During the ten weeks she resided at Knole and in Bristol, she was never
heard to pronounce a word or syllable that at all resembled a European
tongue. Mrs. Worall’s housekeeper, who slept with her, never heard on
any occasion any other language, any tone of voice other than those she
had employed when she first entered the house.
She was equally constant in her choice of food, and showed great nicety
as to her diet. She dressed everything herself, preferring rice to
anything else, did not care for bread, rejected meat, and drank only
water or tea. She refused a pigeon, which she called a _rampue_, that
had been dressed by the cook; but when given a bird that was alive,
she pulled off the head, poured the blood into the earth and covered it
up, then cooked the bird herself and ate it. This was the only animal
food she could be induced to touch, except fish, which she treated in
the same manner.
On every Tuesday she fasted rigidly, on which day she contrived to
ascend to the roof of the house, frequently at the imminent peril of
her life. Ablutions she was particularly fond of; she regularly knelt
by the pond in Knole Park and washed her face and hands in it.
After three weeks’ residence at Knole, she was one morning missing. But
she returned in the evening with a bundle of clothes, her shoes and
hands dirty. Then she fell seriously ill.
On Saturday, 6 June, she again took flight. She had not taken with
her a pin or needle or ribbon but what had been given to her. She
bent her way to Bath, and on the following Sunday, Mrs. Worall
received information of the place to which her protégée had flown. She
determined to reclaim her, and started for Bath, which she reached on
Sunday afternoon.
Here she found the Princess of Javasu, as she was called, at the
pinnacle of her glory, in the drawing-room of a lady of the _haut ton_,
one fair lady kneeling at her feet and taking her hand, and another
imploring to be allowed the honour of a kiss.
Dr. Wilkinson, of Bath, was completely bewildered when he visited
her, and wrote to the _Bath Chronicle_ a glowing account of Caraboo,
in full belief that she was all she pretended to be. “Nothing has yet
transpired to authorize the slightest suspicion of Caraboo, nor has
such ever been entertained except by those whose souls feel not the
spirit of benevolence, and wish to convert into ridicule that amiable
disposition in others.”
Dr. Wilkinson resolved on going to London to consult the Foreign
Office, and to obtain funds for the present relief of the Princess, and
her restoration to her native land.
Mrs. Worall left Bath, taking Caraboo with her. But the wide
circulation of the story led to her detection.
On the following Monday, a Mrs. Neale called on a Mr. Mortimer, and
urged him to go to Knole and tell Mrs. Worall that she knew the girl
very well, for she had lodged in her house in the suburbs of Bristol.
At the same time a youth arrived from Westbury, a wheelwright’s
son, who had met her upon her first expedition to Almondsbury, and
remembered seeing her at a public-house by the roadside, where a
gentleman, feeling compassion for her weariness, had taken her in and
treated her to beefsteak and hot rum and water.
Mrs. Worall was much disconcerted, but wisely said nothing to her guest
of what she had heard, and took Caraboo next day in her carriage to
Bristol under the plea that she was going to have Mr. Bird, the artist,
complete the portrait of the princess on which he was engaged, and
desired a final sitting. But instead of driving to Mr. Bird’s studio,
the princess was conveyed to the house of Mr. Mortimer, where she was
shown into a room by herself, whilst Mrs. Worall had an interview with
Mrs. Neale elsewhere. This lady was attended by her daughter, and
their story both surprised and confounded the kind magistrate’s wife.
After a protracted discussion, she returned to Caraboo, and told her
plainly that she was convinced that she was an impostor. When Caraboo
heard that Mrs. Neale had denounced her, she burst into tears and her
fortitude gave way. She made a few feeble attempts to keep up the
deception, but finally made a full confession.
Her name was Mary Baker. She was born at Witheridge in Devonshire in
1791, and had received no education, being of a wild disposition and
impatient of study. At the age of eight she was employed spinning wool
during the winter, and in summer she drove her father’s horses, weeded
the corn, etc. At the age of sixteen her father and mother procured a
situation for her at a farmhouse with a Mr. Moon, at Brushford, near
Witheridge. She remained there two years as nurse and general help, but
left because paid only tenpence a week, and she demanded that her wage
should be raised to a shilling, which Mr. Moon refused.
Her father and mother were highly incensed at her leaving, and treated
her so ill that she ran away from home and went to Exeter, where she
knew no one, but had a written character from her former mistress. She
was engaged by a shoemaker named Brooke at the wage of £8 per annum.
But she remained in this situation only two months. She spent her
wage on fine clothes, especially a white gown, and went home in it.
Her father was angry at seeing her dressed in white like a lady, and
peremptorily ordered her to take the gown off. She refused and left,
returned to Exeter, and went about begging. She wandered to Taunton
and thence to Bristol, begging from house to house. From Bristol she
made her way to London, where she fell ill with fever, and was taken
into St. Giles’s Hospital. There she enlisted the pity and sympathy
of a dissenting preacher, who, when she was well enough to leave,
recommended her to a Mrs. Matthews, 1 Clapham Road Place, and with her
she tarried for three years. Mrs. Matthews was very kind to her, and
taught her to read; but she was a strict woman, and of the straitest
sect of Calvinists. One day Mary heard that there was to be a Jews’
wedding in the synagogue near by, and she asked leave to be allowed
to witness it. Her mistress refused, but Mary was resolved not to be
debarred the spectacle, so she persuaded a servant in a neighbouring
house to write a letter to Mrs. Matthews, as if from a friend of hers,
to say that she was hourly expecting her confinement and was short of
domestics: would Mrs. Matthews lend her the aid of Mary Baker for a
while? Mrs. Matthews could not refuse the favour and sent Mary out of
the house, and Mary went to the synagogue and saw what was to be seen
there.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Matthews had sent to inquire how her dear friend was
getting through with her troubles, and expressed a hope that Mary had
been of assistance in the house. To her unbounded surprise, she learned
that the good lady was not in particular trouble just then, and that
she really did not comprehend what Mrs. Matthews meant about Mary’s
assistance. When Mary returned to the house, having seen the breaking
of the goblet and heard some psalm singing, she found that a storm was
lowering. Her mistress had sent for the dissenting minister to give it
hot and strong to the naughty girl. To escape this harangue Mary ran
away, wandered about the streets, and seeing a Magdalen Reformatory,
applied at the door for admission. “What! so young and so depraved!”
was the exclamation with which she was received. She was admitted and
remained in the institution some time, and was confirmed by the Bishop
of London. Then it was discovered that she had all along not been
qualified for admission, and was expelled.
She then exchanged her female garments for a boy’s suit at a Jew’s
pawnshop, and started to walk back to Devonshire, begging her way. On
Salisbury Plain she fell in with highwaymen, who offered to take her
into their company if she could fire a pistol. A pistol was put into
her hand, but when she pulled the trigger and it was discharged, she
screamed and threw the weapon down. Thereupon the highwaymen turned
her off, as a white-livered poltroon unfit for their service. She
made her way back to Witheridge to her father, and then went into
service at Crediton to a tanner, but left her place at the end of
three months, unable further to endure the tedium. Then she passed
through a succession of services, never staying in any situation longer
than three months, and found her way back to London. There, according
to her account, she married a foreign gentleman at a Roman Catholic
chapel, where the priest officiated to tie the knot. She accompanied
her husband to Brighton and thence to Dover, where he gave her the
slip, and she had not seen him or heard from him since. She returned
to London, was eventually confined, and placed her child in the
Foundling Institution; then took a situation not far off and visited
the child once a week till it died. After a while she again appeared
at Witheridge, but her reception was so far from cordial that she left
it and associated with gipsies, travelling about with them, telling
fortunes.
It was now, according to her account, that the idea entered her head of
playing the part of a distinguished stranger from the East, and when
she quitted the gipsies, she assumed that part--with what success we
have seen.
Mrs. Worall sent into Devon to ascertain what amount of truth was in
this story. It turned out that her father was named Willcocks, and was
a cobbler at Witheridge, and badly off. He confirmed Mary’s tale as far
as he knew it. She had had an illness when young, and had been odd,
restless, and flighty ever since; especially in spring and autumn did
she become most impatient and uncontrollable. He denied that he had
treated her cruelly, but he had taken the stick to her occasionally, as
she was specially aggravating by throwing up every situation obtained
for her after staying in it for but a short while.
[Illustration: MARY WILCOCKS, OF WITHERIDGE, DEVONSHIRE, ALIAS CARABOO
_Drawn and Engraved by N. Branwhite_]
Finally Mrs. Worall got her embarked on board a vessel, the _Robert and
Anne_, at Bristol, Captain Richardson, under her mother’s maiden name
of Burgess, for the United States, in the hopes that she might be able
to find a situation in Philadelphia.
The reason why she was entered in her mother’s name was to prevent her
from being overwhelmed by the visits and attentions of the curious.
As it was, the Earl of Cork and the Marquess of Salisbury obtained
interviews, got the girl to tell her story, speak her lingo, and
doubtless did not leave without having put gold into her palm.
She was certainly a remarkable character, with astounding
self-possession. Once or twice the housekeeper at Knole would rouse her
by some startling cry or call when she was asleep, but even then she
never passed out of her assumed character.
At Bath, the lady who had received her into her house proposed that a
collection should be made to defray her expenses in returning home to
Javasu. Bank-notes were thrown on the table, and some fell off on the
floor. Caraboo looked on with stolid indifference. If she picked one up
she replaced it on the table without glancing at the note to see how
much it was worth; in fact, she acted as if she did not understand that
bank-notes were other than valueless scraps of paper.
She was, moreover, insensible to flattery. A young gentleman seated
himself by her one day and said, “I think that you are the loveliest
creature I ever set eyes on!” She remained quite unmoved, not a
flutter of colour was in her cheek.
The Greek valet mistrusted her at first, but after a while was
completely won over to believe that she was a genuine Oriental
princess. She was entirely free from vicious propensities beyond that
of feigning to be what she was not. She never purloined anything; never
showed any token of wantonness. Vanity and the love of hoaxing people
were her prevailing passions; there was nothing worse behind.
So over the blue sea she passed to the West, and what became of her
there, whether there she gulled the Americans into believing her to be
an English countess or marchioness, is unknown.
Of one thing we may be pretty certain, that the gentleman who had
visited the Far East, and who pretended to understand her language and
thereby drew out her history, never again dared to show his face at
Knole.
The authority for this story is: “A narrative of a Singular Imposition
practiced ... by a young woman of the name of Mary Willcocks _alias_
Baker, ... _alias_ Caraboo, Princess of Javasu.” Published by Gutch,
of Bristol, in 1817. This contains two portraits, one by E. Bird,
/R.A./, the other a full-length sketch of her in her costume as
a princess.
JOHN ARSCOTT, OF TETCOTT
The family of Arscott, of Dunsland, is one of the most ancient in
the county. Its certified pedigree goes back to 1300, when they were
Arscotts, of Arscott, in the parish of Holsworthy. The elder branch
remained at Dunsland, one of the finest houses in North Devon, or
rather cluster of houses, for it consists of the early mansion of the
reign, at latest, of Henry VII, probably much earlier, of another
portion erected in the reign of James I, and of a stately more modern
mansion erected in the seventeenth century. Dunsland came into the
possession of the Arscotts through marriage with the heiress of Battyn
in 1522. In 1634 the heiress of Arscott married William Bickford, and
it remained in the Bickford family till 1790, when the heiress conveyed
it to her husband, William Holland Coham. In 1827 the heiress of Coham
conveyed Arscott and Dunsland to her husband, Captain Harvey Dickenson,
of the Madras Army, whose son now owns the estate and resides at
Dunsland.
So far the elder branch. The junior branch of Arscott was settled at
Tetcott in 1550, where it continued till 1783, when died John Arscott,
of Tetcott, the last of that stock, whereupon the Tetcott estate passed
to the Molesworths through the descendant of a great-aunt.
Tetcott House--the older--remains, turned into stables and residence
for coachmen and grooms. A stately new mansion was erected in the reign
of Queen Anne. But when the property passed to the Molesworths this was
pulled down, and all its contents dispersed. The family portraits, the
carved oak furniture, the china fell to the contractor who demolished
the mansion. But the park remains with its noble oak trees, and of this
more anon.
John Arscott, of Tetcott, was born in 1718 or 1719; he lived all his
life at the family mansion, and was a mighty hunter before the Lord.
On the presentation of Sir W. Molesworth, Bart., the Rev. Paul W.
Molesworth was presented to the living of Tetcott, and he, in 1855,
succeeded to the baronetcy.
In the register of Tetcott he made the following entry in Latin, which
is here given in translation:--
“Of the Rectors who preceded me I know almost nothing. John Holmes,
whose name appears first in the list of Rectors, was inducted by ‘Quare
impedit’--to use the legal term--in face of the Bishop’s objection. Of
this I was assured by the Rev. G. C. Gorham, who about the year 1848,
as the Bishop of Exeter--H. Phillpotts--refused to institute him to a
benefice on account of his unsoundness on Baptism, attempted to get
himself instituted compulsorily in the same manner.
“James Sanxay, whose name comes lower down in the list, was a man of
no small classical learning, as is proved by his editing a Lexicon of
Aristophanes.
“I have heard it said of him, that on the title page of a book he
added after his name the letters--O.T.D., and on being asked what
these signified, he replied: ‘I have noticed that most Authors, when
publishing their writings, have the greatest objection to their bare
name, always add something to it, such as--F.R.S., LL.D., M.A. So
to keep up the old custom, I myself have added O.T.D., that is--Of
Tetcott, Devon.’”
[Illustration: ARSCOTT OF TETCOTT
“The good old Squire! once more along the glen,
Oh, for the scenes of old! the former men!”
_R. S. Hawker_
_From the picture by J. Northcote. R.A._]
[Between the above and what follows a leaf has been cut out of the
register. Perhaps other rectors were told of on this missing leaf.]
“Of the ‘Lords’ who have held the manor of Tetcott in an unbroken line,
there are not many surviving memories.
“I have heard a story told by the old parishioners of one known as
‘The wicked Arscott,’ so named because he used to keep poor people
and beggars from his doors by big dogs. He still, they say, pays the
penalty of his cruelty in an old oak near the Church.