road between Petersfield and Portsmouth. He accosted them in a polite
manner, and informed them that he was a protector of the fair sex, and
it was purely to win the favor of a hard-hearted mistress that he had
travelled the country. “But, ladies,” added he, “I am at this time
reduced to the necessity of asking relief, having nothing to carry me
on in the intended prosecution of my adventures.” The young ladies,
who had read many romances, could not help concluding that they had
met with some Quixote or Amadis de Gaul, who was saluting them in the
strains of knight-errantry. “Sir knight,” said one of the most jocular
of the company, “we heartily commiserate your condition, and are very
much troubled that we cannot contribute towards your support; for we
have nothing about us but a sacred _depositum_, which the laws of your
order will not suffer you to violate.” The captain was much pleased at
having met with such a pleasant lady, and was much inclined to have
permitted them to proceed; but his necessities were at this time very
urgent. “May I, bright ladies, be favored with the knowledge of what
this sacred depositum, which you speak of, is, that so I may employ
my utmost abilities in its defence, as the laws of knight-errantry
require.” The lady who had spoken before told him, that the depositum
she had spoken of was 3000_l._ the portion of one of the company, who
was going to bestow it upon the knight who had won her good-will by
his many past services. “Present my humble duty to the knight,” said
he, “and be pleased to tell him that my name is captain Hind; that out
of mere necessity I have made bold to borrow part of what, for his
sake, I wish were twice as much; that I promise to expend the sum in
defence of injured lovers, and in the support of gentlemen who profess
knight-errantry.” Upon the name of captain Hind, the fair ones were
sufficiently alarmed, as his name was well known all over England.
He, however, requested them not to be affrighted, for he would not do
them the least injury, and only requested 1000_l._ of the 3000_l._ As
the money was bound up in several parcels, the request was instantly
complied with, and our adventurer wished them a prosperous journey, and
many happy days to the bride.
Taking leave of the captain for a little, we shall inform our readers
of the consequences of this extorted loan of the captain’s. When the
bride arrived at the dwelling of her intended husband, she faithfully
recounted to him her adventures upon the road. The avaricious and
embryo curmudgeon refused to accept her hand until her father should
agree to make up the loss. Partly because he detested the request of
the lover, and partly because he had sufficiently exhausted his funds,
the father refused to comply. The pretended lover, therefore, declined
her hand, because it was emptied of the third part of her fortune; and
the affectionate and high spirited lady died of a broken heart. Hind
often declared, that this adventure caused him great uneasiness, while
it filled him with detestation at the dishonorable and base conduct of
the mercenary lover.
The transactions of Hind were now become so numerous, and made him
so well known, that he was forced to conceal himself in the country.
During this cessation from his usual industrious labors, his funds
became so exhausted, that even his horse was sold to maintain his
own life. Impelled by necessity, he often resolved to hazard a few
movements upon the highway; but he had resided so long in that
quarter, that he durst not risk any such adventure. Fortune, however,
commiserated the condition of the captain, and provided relief. He was
informed that a doctor, who resided in the neighborhood, had gone to
receive a handsome fee for a cure which he had effected. The captain
then lived in a small house which he had hired upon the side of a
common, and which the doctor had to pass in his journey home. Hind,
having long and impatiently waited his arrival, ran up to him, and
in the most piteous tone and suppliant language, told the doctor his
wife was suddenly seized with illness, and that unless she got some
assistance she would certainly perish, and entreated him just to tarry
for a minute or two and lend her his medical assistance, and he would
gratefully pay him for his trouble as soon as it was in his power.
The tender-hearted doctor, moved with compassion, alighted and
accompanied him into his house, assuring him that he should be very
happy to be of any service in restoring his wife to health. Hind showed
the doctor up-stairs; but they had no sooner entered the door, than he
locked it, presented a pistol, showing, at the same time, his empty
purse, saying: “This is my wife; she has so long been unwell, that
there is now nothing at all within her. I know, sir, that you have a
sovereign remedy in your pocket for her distemper, and if you do not
apply it without a word, this pistol will make the day shine into your
body!” The doctor would have been content to have lost his fee, upon
condition of being delivered from the importunities of his patient;
but it required only a small degree of the knowledge of symptoms to be
convinced, that obedience was the only thing which remained for him to
observe: he therefore emptied his own purse of forty guineas into that
of the captain, and thus left our hero’s wife in a convalescent state.
Hind then informed the doctor, that he would leave him in possession
of his whole house, to reimburse him for the money which he had taken
from him. So saying, he locked the door upon the doctor, mounted that
gentleman’s horse, and went in quest of another county, since this had
become too hot for him.
Hind has been often celebrated for his generosity to the poor; and the
following is a remarkable instance of his virtue in that particular.
He was upon one occasion extremely destitute of cash, and had waited
long upon the road without receiving any supply. An old man, jogging
along upon an ass, at length appeared. He rode up to him, and very
politely inquired where he was going. “To the market,” said the old
man, “at Wantage, to buy me a cow, that I may have some milk for my
children.” “How many children have you?” The old man answered, “Ten.”
“And how much do you mean to give for a cow?” said Hind. “I have but
forty shillings, master, and that I have been scraping together these
two years.” Hind’s heart ached for the poor man’s condition; at the
same time he could not help admiring his simplicity; but, being in
absolute want himself, he thought of an expedient which would serve
both himself and the poor old man. “Father,” said he, “the money which
you have is necessary for me at this time; but I will not wrong your
children of their milk. My name is Hind, and if you will give me your
forty shillings quietly, and meet me again this day se’nnight at this
place, I promise to make the sum double.” The old man reluctantly
consented, and Hind enjoined him to “be cautious not to mention a word
of the matter to any body between this and that time.” The old man came
at the appointed time, and received as much as would purchase two cows,
and twenty shillings more, that he might thereby have the best in the
market.
Though Hind had long frequented the road, yet he carefully avoided
shedding blood; and the following is the only instance of this nature
related of him. He had one morning committed several robberies, and
among others, had taken more than 70_l._ from colonel Harrison, the
celebrated parliamentary general. As the Roundheads were Hind’s
inveterate foes, the colonel immediately raised the hue-and-cry after
him, which was circulated in that part of the country before the
captain was aware of it. At last, however, he received intelligence at
one of the inns upon the road, and made every possible haste to fly
the scene of danger. In this situation the captain was apprehensive of
every person he met upon the road. He had reached a place called Knowl
Hill, when the servant of a gentleman, who was following his master,
came riding at full speed behind him. Hind, supposing that it was one
in pursuit of himself, upon his coming up, turned about, and shot him
through the head, when the unfortunate man fell dead upon the spot.
Fortune favored the captain at this time, and he got off in safety.
The following adventure closes the narrative of Hind’s busy life. After
Charles I. was beheaded, the Scots remained loyal, proclaimed his son
Charles II., and resolved to maintain his right against the usurper.
They suddenly raised an army, and entering England, proceeded as far as
Worcester. Multitudes of the English joined the royal army, and among
these captain Hind, who was loyal from principle, and brave by nature.
Cromwell was sent by Parliament with an army to intercept the march of
the royalists. Both armies met at Worcester, and a desperate and bloody
battle ensued. The king’s army was routed. Captain Hind had the good
fortune to escape, and, reaching London, lived in a retired situation.
Here, however, he had not remained long, when he was betrayed by one of
his intimate acquaintances. It will readily be granted that his actions
merited death by the law of his country, but the mind recoils with
horror from the thought of treachery in an intimate friend.
Hind was carried before the speaker of the house of commons, and, after
a long examination, was committed to Newgate and loaded with irons;
nor was any person allowed to converse with him without a special
permission. He was brought to the bar of the session-house at the
Old Bailey, indicted for several crimes, but, for want of sufficient
evidence, nothing worthy of death could be proved against him. Not long
after this, he was sent down to Reading under a strong guard, and,
being arraigned before judge Warburton, for killing George Symson at
Knowl Hill, as formerly mentioned, he was convicted of wilful murder.
An act of indemnity for all past offences was issued at this time, and
he hoped to have been included; but an order of council removed him to
Worcester gaol, where he was condemned for high treason, and hanged,
drawn, and quartered, on the 24th September 1652, aged thirty-four
years. His head was stuck upon the top of the bridge over the Severn,
and the other parts of his body placed upon the gates of the city. The
head was privately taken down and interred, but the remaining parts of
his body remained until consumed by the influence of the weather.
In his last moments he declared that his principal depredations had
been committed against the republican party, and that he was sorry for
nothing so much as not living to see his royal master restored.
THE GERMAN PRINCESS.
Though this remarkable female character was denominated a German
Princess, for a reason which will be mentioned in the course of her
narrative, she was a native of Canterbury, and her father a chorister
of that cathedral. From her sprightly and volatile disposition, she at
an early period took delight in reading the novels that were at that
time fashionable,--such as Parismus and Parismanus, Don Bellianis of
Greece, Amadis de Gaul, and Cassandra and Cleopatra; and in a little
time really believed what she wished, even that she was a princess.
But in her marriage she lost sight of her exalted conceptions, and
united her fortune with a journeyman shoemaker. She resided with
him until she had two children, who both died in their infancy. The
industrious shoemaker was unable to support her extravagance, so that
she at last left him, to seek her fortune elsewhere.
A woman of her figure, beauty, and address, was not long before she
procured another husband. She went to Dover, and married a surgeon of
that place, but, being apprehended and tried at Maidstone for having
two husbands, by some dexterous manœuvre she was acquitted.
She presently after embarked for Holland, and travelled by land to
Cologne, and having a considerable sum of money, took handsome lodgings
at a house of entertainment, and cut a dashing figure. As it is
customary for the gentry in England to frequent Brighton during the
season, so it was then customary for those in Germany to frequent the
Spa. Our heroine went thither, and was addressed by an old gentleman
who had a good estate in the vicinity. With the assistance of her
landlady, she managed this affair with great art. The old gentleman
presented her with several fine jewels, besides a gold chain and costly
medal, which had been given him, for some gallant action under count
Tilly, against the valiant Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden. He at length
began to press matrimony with all the keenness of a young lover, and,
unable to resist the siege any longer, she consented to make him
happy in three days. Meanwhile, he supplied her with money in great
profusion, and she was requested to prepare what things she pleased
for the wedding. The Princess now deemed it high time to be gone, and,
to secure her retreat, acquainted her landlady with her design. Having
already shared largely of the spoils that our adventurer had received
from her old doating lover, the aged beldame, in hopes of pillaging
him a little more, encouraged and aided her flight. Our heroine
requested her to go and provide her a seat in a carriage which took a
different road from that of Cologne, as she did not wish that her lover
should be able to trace her route. When our Princess found herself
alone, she broke open a chest in which the good woman had deposited
all her share of the spoil that she had received from our heroine,
as well as her own money. Madame made free with all, and took her
passage to Utrecht, from thence went to Amsterdam, sold her chains and
some jewels, and then passed into Rotterdam, from whence she speedily
embarked for England.
She landed at Billingsgate, one morning very early in the end of March
1663, and found no house open until she came to the Exchange inn, where
she attained to the dignity of a German princess in the following
manner. In this inn, she got into the company of some gentlemen who,
she perceived, were full of money, and these addressing her in a
rude manner, she began to weep most bitterly, exclaiming that it was
extremely hard for her to be reduced to this extreme distress, who
was once a princess. Here she recited the story of her extraction
and education, and much about her pretended father, the lord Henry
Vanwolway, a prince of the empire, and independent of every man but his
Imperial Majesty. “Certainly,” said she, “any gentleman here present
may conceive what a painful situation this must be to me to be thus
reduced, brought up as I have been under the care of an indulgent
father, and in all the luxuries of a court. But, alas! what do I
say?--Indulgent father! was it not his cruelty which banished me, his
only daughter, from his dominions, merely for marrying, without his
knowledge, a nobleman of the court whom I loved to excess? Was it not
my father who occasioned my dear lord and husband to be cut off in
the bloom of his age, by falsely accusing him of a design against his
person,--a deed which his virtuous soul abhorred?” Here she pretended
that the poignancy of her feelings would allow her to relate no more
of her unfortunate history.
The whole company was touched with compassion at the melancholy tale,
which she related with so much unaffected simplicity, that they had
not a doubt of its truth. Compassionating her unfortunate situation,
they requested her acceptance of all the money they had about them,
promising to return again with more. They were as good as their
promise, and she ever after went by the name of the unfortunate German
Princess.
The man who kept the inn, knowing that she was come from the continent,
and seeing that she had great riches about her, was disposed more
than ever to believe the truth of her story. Nor was Madame backward
to inform him, that she had collected all that she possessed from the
benevolent contributions of neighboring princes, who knew and pitied
her misfortunes. “Nor durst any one of them,” continued she, “let my
father know what they had done, or where I am, for he was so much more
powerful than any of them, that if he understood that any one favored
me, he would instantly make war upon them.”
King, the innkeeper, being convinced of her rank and fortune, John
Carleton, his brother-in-law, no doubt receiving proper information
from King, became enamored of the Princess, and presumed to pay his
addresses to her. She was highly displeased at first, but, from his
importunity, was at last prevailed upon to descend from her station,
and receive the hand of a common man. Poor Carleton thought himself
the happiest of mortals, in being thus so highly honored by a union
with such an accomplished and amiable princess, possessed of an ample
fortune, though far inferior to what she had a right to expect from her
noble birth.
But, during this dream of pleasure, Mr. King received a letter,
informing him, that the woman who resided at his house, and was married
to his brother-in-law, was an impostor, that she had already been
married to two husbands, and had eloped with all the money she could
lay her hands on: and that the writer said nothing but what could be
proved by the most unquestionable evidence in a court of justice. The
consequence was, that a prosecution was instituted against her for
polygamy; but from insufficient evidence she was acquitted.
She was then introduced as an actress among the players, and by them
supported for some time. Upon the strength of her popularity the house
was often crowded, and the public curiosity was excited by a woman who
had made such a figure in the world, and was receiving great applause
in her dramatic capacity. She generally appeared in characters suited
to her habits of life, and those scenes which had been rendered
familiar to her by former deception and intrigues. But what tended
chiefly to promote her fame, was a play called the “German Princess,”
written principally upon her account, in which she spoke the following
prologue in such a manner as gained universal applause.
I’ve passed one trial, but it is my fear
I shall receive a rigid sentence here:
You think me a bold cheat, but case ’twere so,
Which of you are not? Now you’d swear, I know;
But do not, lest that you deserve to be
Censured worse than you can censure me;
The world’s a cheat, and we that move in it
In our degrees do exercise our wit;
And better ’tis to get a glorious name,
However got, than live by common fame.
The Princess had too much mercury in her constitution to remain long
within the bounds of a theatre, when London itself was too limited for
her volatile disposition. She did not, however, leave the theatre until
she had procured many admirers. Her history was well known, as well as
her accomplishments and her gallantry, and introduced her into company.
She was easy of access, but in society carried herself with an affected
air of indifference.
There were two young beaux, in particular, who had more money in
their pockets than wit in their heads; and from the scarcity of that
commodity in themselves, they the more admired her wit and humor. She
encouraged their addresses until she had extracted about three hundred
pounds from each of them, and then observing their funds were nearly
exhausted, discarded them both, saying, she was astonished at their
impudence, in making love to a princess!
Her next lover was an old gentleman about fifty, who saw her, and
though he was acquainted with her history, nevertheless resolved to be
at the expense of some hundreds a year, provided she would consent to
live with him. To gain his purpose he sent her several rich presents,
which, with seeming reluctance, she accepted. When they commenced
living together as man and wife, she so accommodated herself to his
temper and disposition that he was constantly making her rich presents,
which were always accepted with apparent reluctance, as laying her
under so many obligations. In this manner they continued, until her
doating lover one evening coming home intoxicated, she thought it a
proper opportunity to decamp. So soon as he was asleep, she rifled his
pockets, and found his pocket-book, containing a bill for a hundred
pounds, and some money. She also stripped him of his watch, and, taking
his keys, opened his coffers, and carried off every thing that suited
her purpose. She next went and presented the bill, and, as the acceptor
knew her, received the money without hesitation.
Having thus fleeced her old lover, our German princess took up lodgings
in a convenient place, under the character of a young lady with a
thousand pounds, whose father was able to give her twice as much: but
disliking a person whom he had provided as a husband for her, she had
left her father’s house, and did not wish to be discovered by any of
her friends. Madame now continued to have different letters sent her
from time to time, containing an account of all the news concerning her
father and lover. These were left carelessly about the room, and her
landlady reading them, became confirmed in the belief of her story.
This woman had a rich nephew, a young man, who, having been introduced
to her acquaintance, became enamored of her, and to gain her favor
presented her with a gold watch, which she could hardly be prevailed
upon to accept. Her lover already thought the door of paradise open
to him, and their amour proceeded with all the mutual felicity that
young lovers can expect or desire. But in this season of bliss, a
porter knocked at the door with a letter. Her maid, as previously
directed, brought the letter in to her, which she had no sooner read,
than she exclaimed, “I am undone! I am ruined!”--and pretended to swoon
away. The scent bottle was employed, and her enraptured lover was all
kindness and attention. When she was a little recovered, she presented
the letter, saying, “Sir, since you are at last acquainted with most
of my concerns, I shall not make a secret of this; therefore, if you
please, read this letter and know the occasion of my affliction.” The
young gentleman received it, and read as follows:
“DEAR MADAM,
“I have several times taken my pen in my hand, on purpose to write
you, and as often laid it aside again, for fear of giving you more
trouble than you already labor under. However, as the affair so
immediately concerns you, I cannot in justice hide what I tremble to
disclose, but must in duty tell you the worst of news, whatever may be
the consequence of my so doing.
“Know, then, that your affectionate and tender brother is dead. I am
sensible how dear he was to you, and you to him, yet let me entreat
you, for your own sake, to acquiesce in the will of Providence as
much as possible, since our lives are all at his disposal who gave
us being. I could use another argument to comfort you, that, with a
sister less loving than you, would be of more weight than that I have
urged; but I know your soul is above all mercenary views. I cannot,
however, forbear to inform you, that he has left you all he had; and
farther, that your father’s estate of 200_l._ per annum, can devolve
upon no other person than yourself, who are now his only child.
“What I am next to acquaint you with may, perhaps, be almost as bad
as the former particular. Your hated lover has been so importunate
with your father, especially since your brother’s decease, that the
old gentleman resolves, if ever he should hear of you any more, to
marry you to him, and he makes this the condition of your being again
received into his favor, and having your former disobedience, as
he calls it, forgiven. While your brother lived, he was every day
endeavoring to soften the heart of your father, and we were only
last week in hopes he would have consented to let you follow your
inclinations, if you would come home to him again; but now there is no
advocate in your cause who can work upon the man’s peevish temper; for
he says, as you are now his sole heir, he ought to be more resolute in
the disposal of you in marriage.
“While I am now writing, I am surprised with an account that your
father and lover are preparing to come to London, where, they say,
they can find you out. Whether or not this be only a device, I cannot
tell, nor can I conceive where they could receive their information,
if it be true. However, to prevent the worst, consider whether or
not you can cast off your old aversion, and submit to your father’s
commands; for if you cannot, it will be most advisable in my opinion
to change your residence. I have no more to say in the affair, being
unwilling to direct you in such a very nice circumstance. The temper
of your own mind will be the best instructer you can apply to; for
your future happiness or misery during life depends on your choice. I
hope that every thing will turn out for the best.
“From your sincere friend, S. E.”