In the latter half of last century a farmer in one of the northern
counties had in his house a very pretty girl, who passed as his
daughter, and who supposed that he was her father. The damsel was
industrious and virtuous as well as beautiful, and as she grew to
maturity had many applicants for her hand. At last, as it became
apparent that she would not long remain disengaged or single, her
reputed father explained to her that she was not his daughter, but was
an illegitimate child of Lord Robert Manners, who had all along paid
for her support, and who was disposed to grant her a wedding portion
of £1000, provided she married with his sanction. The news soon
spread, and the rustic beauty became a greater toast than ever when it
was known that she was also an heiress. Among others who heard of her
sudden accession to fortune was a young fellow called John Hatfield,
then employed as a traveller by a neighbouring linen-draper. He lost
no time in paying his respects at the farm-house, or in enrolling
himself in the number of her suitors, and succeeded so well that he
not only gained the affections of the girl, but also the goodwill of
the farmer, who wrote to Lord Robert Manners, informing him that
Hatfield held a good position and had considerable expectations, and
that he was anxious to marry his daughter, but would only do so on
condition that her relatives approved of the union. Thereupon his
lordship sent for the lover, and, believing his representations to be
true, gave his consent at the first interview, and on the day after
the marriage presented the bridegroom with £1500.
The fellow was in reality a great scamp. A short time after he got the
money he set out for London, purchased a carriage, frequented the most
famous coffee-houses, and represented himself to be a near relation of
the Rutland family, and the possessor of large estates in Yorkshire.
The marriage portion was soon exhausted, and when he had borrowed from
every person who would lend him money he disappeared from the
fashionable world as abruptly as he had entered it. Little was heard
of his movements for several years, when he suddenly turned up again
as boastful, if not as resplendent, as ever. By this time his wife had
borne three daughters to him; but he regarded both her and them as
hateful encumbrances, and deserted them, leaving them to be supported
by the precarious charity of her relations. The poor woman did not
long survive his ill-usage and neglect, and died in 1782. Hatfield
himself found great difficulty in raising money, and was, at last,
thrown into the King's Bench prison for a debt of £160. Here he was
very miserable, and was in such absolute destitution that he excited
the pity of some of his former associates and victims who had retained
sufficient to pay their jail expenses, and they often invited him to
dinner and supplied him with food. He never lost his assurance; and,
although he was perfectly well aware that his real character was
known, still continued to boast of his kennels, of his Yorkshire park,
and of his estate in Rutlandshire, which he asserted was settled upon
his wife; and usually wound up his complaint by observing how annoying
it was that a gentleman who at that very time had thirty men engaged
in beautifying his Yorkshire property should be locked up in a filthy
jail, by a miserable tradesman, for a paltry debt.
Among others to whom he told this cock-and-bull story was a clergyman
who came to the prison to visit Valentine Morris, the ex-governor of
St. Vincent, who was then one of the inmates; and he succeeded in
persuading the unsuspecting divine to visit the Duke of Rutland, and
lay his case before him as that of a near relative. Of course the
duke repudiated all connection with him, and all recollection of him;
but a day or two later, when he remembered that he was the man who had
married the natural daughter of Lord Robert Manners, he sent £200 and
had him released.
Such a benefactor was not to be lost sight of. The duke was appointed
Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland in 1784, and had scarcely landed in Dublin
when Hatfield followed him to that city. On his arrival he engaged a
splendid suite of apartments in a first-rate hotel, fared sumptuously,
and represented himself as nearly allied to the viceroy; but said that
he could not appear at the castle until his horses, carriages, and
servants arrived from England. The Yorkshire park, the Rutlandshire
estate, and the thirty industrious labourers were all impressed into
his service once more, and the landlord allowed him to have what he
liked. When the suspicions of Boniface were aroused by the non-arrival
of the equipages and attendants he presented his bill. Hatfield
assured him that his money was perfectly safe, and that luckily his
agent, who collected the rents of his estate in the north of England,
was then in Ireland, and would give him all needful information. The
landlord called upon this gentleman, whose name had been given to him,
and presented his account, but of course without success; and Hatfield
was thrown in the Marshalsea jail by the indignant landlord. By this
time he was thoroughly familiar with the mysteries of prison life as
it then existed, and had scarcely seated himself in his new lodging
when he visited the jailer's wife and informed her of the relationship
in which he stood to the lord-lieutenant. The woman believed him, gave
him the best accommodation she could, and allowed him to sit at her
table for three weeks. During this time he sent another petition to
the new viceroy, who, fearing lest his own reputation should suffer,
released him, and was only too glad to ship him off to Holyhead.
He next showed himself at Scarborough in 1792, and succeeded in
introducing himself to some of the local gentry, to whom he hinted
that at the next general election he would be made one of the
representatives of the town through the influence of the Duke of
Rutland. His inability to pay his hotel bill, however, led to his
exposure, and he was obliged to flee to London, where he was again
arrested for debt. This time the wheel of Fortune turned but slowly in
his favour. He lingered in jail for eight years and a-half, when a
Miss Nation, of Devonshire, to whom he had become known, paid his
debts, took him from prison, and married him.
Abandoning his Rutlandshire pretensions, he now devoted himself to
business, and persuaded a Devonshire firm, who knew nothing of his
antecedents, to take him into partnership, and also ingratiated
himself with a clergyman, who accepted his drafts for a large amount.
Thus supplied with ready money he returned to London, where he lived
in splendid style, and even went so far as to aspire to a seat in the
House of Commons. For a time all appeared to go well; but suspicions
gradually arose with regard to his character and his resources, and he
was declared a bankrupt. Deserting his wife and her two children, he
fled from his creditors. For some time nothing was heard of him, but
in July 1802 he arrived in Keswick, in a carriage, but without any
servant, and assumed the name of the Honourable Alexander Augustus
Hope, brother of the Earl of Hopetoun, and member of Parliament for
Linlithgow.
In his wanderings he became acquainted with an old couple called
Robinson, who kept a little hostelry on the shore of the Lake of
Buttermere, and who had one daughter who was locally known as "The
Beauty of Buttermere." The handsome colonel at once began to lay siege
to this girl's heart, and was the less loth to do so because it was
rumoured that old Robinson had saved a considerable sum during a long
lifetime. But with his usual prudence, he thought it well to have two
strings to his bow, and finding that there was an Irish officer in
Keswick who had a ward of good family and fortune, and of great
personal attractions, he procured an introduction as the Honourable
Colonel Hope of the 14th regiment of foot. He failed with the ward,
but he was more successful with the Irishman's daughter. Her consent
was given, the trousseau was ordered, and the wedding-day was fixed.
But the lady would not agree to a secret ceremony, and insisted that
he should announce his intended nuptials both to her own and his
friends. This he agreed to do, and pretended to write letters
apprising his brother, and even proposed a visit to Lord Hopetoun's
seat. The bride's suspicions were, however, roused by the strange air
of concealment and mystery which surrounded her intended husband; the
desired answers to his letters came not, and she refused to resign
either herself or her fortune into his keeping.
Thus baffled, he devoted all his attention to pretty Mary Robinson,
and found her less reluctant to unite her lot with that of such a
distinguished individual as Colonel Hope. The inquiries this time were
all on the gallant officer's side, and it was only when he found that
the reports as to old Robinson's wealth were well founded that he led
her to the altar of Lorton church, on the 2d of October 1802.
On the day before the wedding the _soi-disant_ Colonel Hope wrote to a
gentleman of his acquaintance, informing him that he was under the
necessity of being absent for ten days on a journey into Scotland, and
enclosing a draft for thirty pounds, drawn on a Mr. Crumpt of
Liverpool, which he desired him to cash and pay some small debts in
Keswick with it, and send him over the balance, as he was afraid he
might be short of money on the road. This was done; and the gentleman
sent him at the same time an additional ten pounds, lest unexpected
demands should be made upon his purse in his absence.
The Keswick folks were naturally astonished when they learned two days
later that the colonel, who had been paying his addresses to the
daughter of the Irish officer, had married "The Beauty of Buttermere,"
and the confiding friend who had sent him the money at once despatched
the draft to Liverpool. Mr. Crumpt immediately accepted it, believing
that it came from the real Colonel Hope, whom he knew very well.
Meantime, instead of paying his proposed journey to Scotland Hatfield
stopped at Longtown, where he received two letters, by which he
seemed much disturbed, and returned after three days' absence to
Buttermere. Some friends of the real colonel, chancing to hear of his
marriage, paused on their way through Cumberland, at Keswick, and
wrote to their supposed acquaintance, asking him to come and visit
them. Hatfield went in a carriage and four, and had an interview with
the gentlemen, but flatly denied that he had ever assumed Colonel
Hope's name. He said his name was Hope, but that he was not the member
for Linlithgow. It was notorious, however, that he had been in the
habit of franking his letters with Colonel Hope's name, and he was
handed over to a constable. He contrived to escape, and fled first to
Chester and subsequently to Swansea, where he was recaptured.
He was brought to trial at the Cumberland assizes on the 15th of
August 1803, charged with personation and forgery, and was found
guilty and sentenced to death. He was executed at Carlisle on the 3d
of September 1803.