the aid of a coachman whom the actor had discharged from his service
for misconduct. Foote had made so many enemies that those whom he had
wounded and mortified found the money for a prosecution; and the case
was tried at King's Bench before Lord Mansfield and a special jury.
But it broke down completely, and Foote was acquitted.
As soon as the trial was over, his fellow dramatist Murphy took a
coach and drove to Foote's house in Suffolk Street, Charing Cross, to
be the first messenger of the good tidings.
Foote had been looking out of the window in anxious expectation of
such a message. Murphy, as soon as he perceived him, waved his hat in
token of victory, and jumping out of the coach, ran upstairs, to find
Foote extended on the floor, in hysterics. In this condition he
continued for nearly an hour before he could be recovered to any kind
of recollection of himself.
The charge, and the anxiety of the trial, broke his heart; he never
thoroughly rallied after it, and sold his patent in the Haymarket
Theatre to George Colman on January 16th, 1777. By the terms of this
agreement Colman obliged himself to pay Foote an annuity of sixteen
hundred pounds.
Having in some degree recovered his health, he was advised by his
physician to try the south of France during the winter; and with this
intent he reached Dover on the 20th October, 1777, on his way to Calais.
Whilst at Dover, he went into the kitchen of the inn to order a
particular dish for dinner, and the cook, understanding that he was
about to embark for France, began to brag of her powers, and defy him to
find any better _cuisine_ abroad, though, for her part, she said, she
had never crossed the water. "Why cookey," said Foote, "that cannot be,
for above stairs they informed me you have been several times _all over
grease_ (Greece)." "They may say what they like," retorted she, "but I
was never ten miles from Dover in all my life." "Nay, now," said Foote,
"that must be a fib, for I myself have seen you at _Spit-head_."
This was his last joke. Next morning he was seized with a shivering fit
whilst at breakfast, which increasing, he was put to bed. Another fit
succeeded that lasted three hours. He then seemed inclined to sleep, and
presently with a deep sigh expired on October 21st, 1777, in the
fifty-seventh year of his age. He was buried in Westminster Abbey.
The authors of the _Biographica Dramatica_ say of his farces "Mr.
Foote's dramatic works are all to be ranked among the _petites pièces_
of the theatre, as he never attempted anything which attained the bulk
of the more perfect drama. In the execution of them they are sometimes
loose, negligent, and unfinished, seeming rather to be the hasty
productions of a man of genius, whose Pegasus, though endued with fire,
has no inclination for fatigue, than the laboured finishings of a
professed dramatist aiming at immortality. His plots are somewhat
irregular, and their catastrophes not always conclusive or perfectly
wound up. Yet, with all these little deficiencies, it must be confessed
that they contain more of one essential property of comedy, viz. strong
character, than the writings of any other of our modern authors."
FOOTNOTE:
[17] Baptized S. Mary's, Truro, Jan. 27th, 1720-1.
THE LAST LORD MOHUN
The first of the family of Mohun known to history came over with the
Conqueror from Normandy, and received the name and title of Sapell,
Earl of Somerset. How the earldom lapsed we do not know, but a Mohun
next appears as Baron of Dunster. Apparently, but not certainly, the
earldom was taken from them by Henry III, for siding against him with
the Barons in 1297. A branch of the family settled at Boconnoc early
in the fifteenth century. In the church of Lanteglos by Fowey is a
brass of William Mohun, who died in 1508. Sir Reginald Mohun, Knt.,
was sheriff of Cornwall in 1553 and 1560. He was squire of the body to
Queen Elizabeth, and his son, Sir William Mohun, was sheriff in 1572
and 1578. His son, Sir Reginald, was created baronet in 1612, and his
grandson John was raised to be Baron Mohun of Okehampton in 1628.
Warwick, the second Lord Mohun, died in 1665, leaving a son, Charles,
third Baron, who married Lady Philippa Annesley, daughter of the Earl
of Anglesea, and by her had a son Charles, fourth Baron, and a
daughter Elizabeth, who died unmarried. He acted as second to Lord
Candish in a duel, where he was wounded in the belly and died soon
after; he was buried October 20th, 1677.
Charles, fourth Baron Mohun of Okehampton, was married in the first
place to Charlotte, daughter of Thomas Mainwaring. With her he lived
unhappily and was separated from her, nor would he acknowledge the
daughter born to her as being his own child. He had the good fortune,
however, to be rid of her at last, as she was drowned on a passage to
Ireland with one of her gallants. He married secondly Elizabeth,
daughter of Dr. Thomas Laurence, physician to Queen Anne, and widow of
Colonel Edward Griffith.
[Illustration: _Charles Mohun Lord Mohun._]
Fitton Gerrard, Earl of Macclesfield, maternal uncle of his first
wife, to make him some amends for his bad bargain, left to Lord Mohun
a good part of his estate.
Charles, fourth Baron Mohun, was of a contentious nature, and was
involved in several duels. He fought Lord Kennedy on December 7th, 1692.
On October 7th, 1694, a Mr. Scobell, a Cornish M.P., interfered with
Lord Mohun, who was attempting to kill a coachman in Pall Mall. Mohun,
furious at being interfered with, cut Mr. Scobell over the head, and
afterwards challenged him. He was also engaged in a duel with a Captain
Bingham on April 7th, 1697, when he was wounded in the hand. He was next
engaged in a quarrel with a Captain Hill of the Foot Guards, at the
Rummer Tavern on September 14th, 1697; he managed to kill Hill.
The story of the murder of Mountford the actor by Captain Hill, in
which Lord Mohun was involved as abetter, is given very fully by Sir
Bernard Burke, in his _Romance of the Aristocracy_, 1855, and I will
here condense his account.
Mrs. Bracegirdle was at the time a very charming actress, with a
delicious voice of remarkable flexibility, and her singing of such a
song as Eccles' "The bonny, bonny breeze" brought down the house; but
the mad song, "I burn, my brain consumes to ashes," as sung by her in
the character of Marcella in _Don Quixote_, was considered one of her
masterpieces. Cibber says that all the extravagance and frantic
passion of Lee's _Alexander the Great_ were excusable when Mrs.
Bracegirdle played Statira; that scarcely an audience saw her that
were not half her lovers without a suspected favourite among them. In
an age of general dissoluteness she bore an immaculate reputation, and
the licentious men about town knew perfectly well that she was beyond
the reach of their solicitations. Mrs. Bracegirdle had a friend, "a
miracle of fine acting," Mrs. Mountford, also a performer at the
Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, and became intimate with her. Some of the
malicious, who could ill believe that an actress was virtuous,
supposed that Mrs. Bracegirdle favoured that lady's husband, who was a
good actor of heroic tragedy.
Among the many admirers of Mrs. Bracegirdle was a Captain Richard
Hill. So infatuated was he with her charms, that he proposed to marry
her; but, when she rejected his offer, he regarded this as an insult,
and supposed that she had been persuaded by Mountford to refuse him.
Hill, in ungovernable wrath, vowed that he would kill the actor who
had dared to tender advice to the beautiful Mrs. Bracegirdle to reject
his offer, and also to carry off his mistress by force.
At a supper, where were Lord Mohun, Captain Hill, Colonel Tredenham,
and a Mr. Powell, Hill spoke openly of his purpose, and turning to
Powell said, "I am resolved to have the blood of Mountford." Powell,
who was a friend to both parties, took alarm at these words, and
replied that he should certainly inform Mountford of the threat and
caution him to be on his guard. Captain Hill then drew off from him,
and approached Lord Mohun, whom he speedily discovered to be ready to
act as his ally.
Along with Mohun, Hill now seriously set about the requisite
preparations for carrying out his purpose, which they agreed should
take place the following night. With this view, their first care was
to order a coach to be in waiting for them at nine o'clock in Drury
Lane, near the theatre; but, so as not to attract particular notice,
with two horses only, while a reserve of four more was to be held in
readiness at the stables, to convey Hill and Mrs. Bracegirdle to
Totteridge. That they expected a serious resistance was apparent, for
they not only provided themselves with pistols, but had bribed a party
of soldiers to assist them in the enterprise.
During the day the confederates dined together at a tavern in Covent
Garden, and talked openly of their intention, before several other
persons who were present. But strangely enough, not a syllable reached
those interested, to give them timely warning. Yet the conversation
was of a nature to excite attention; they discussed the scheme
unreservedly, and Lord Mohun remarked that the affair would cost at
least fifty pounds; to which Hill replied, "If that villain Mountford
resist I will stab him." "And I will stand your friend if you do,"
observed Lord Mohun.
It so happened, however, that Mrs. Bracegirdle did not play that
night, and the confederates learned the fact, as also that she was
supping at the house of a Mr. Page in Princes Street hard by, and
thither, accordingly, they repaired, planting themselves with the
soldiers over against a house occupied by Lord Craven.
Nine o'clock struck, and still no signs of her for whom they were
watching. They began to think that they must have been misinformed and
ordered the coachman to drive to Howard Street, where Mrs. Bracegirdle
lodged, in the house of a Mrs. Browne. Howard Street is a cross-way
leading from Arundel Street, through Norfolk Street, to Surrey Street,
in the former of which lived Mountford, so that it was not possible for
the actor on his return from the theatre to fail coming upon them. Here,
however, they did not remain long, their suspicions having been excited
by the appearance of several individuals pacing up and down in front of
the lady's lodgings, and these they thought must be spies set to watch
their proceedings. They accordingly returned to their former station by
the house of Mr. Page. At ten o'clock the door opened and that gentleman
issued forth along with Mrs. Bracegirdle, her mother and brother, and
volunteered to accompany them home, an offer they declined, as they said
that they needed no further protection; however, he attended them part
of the way. On coming up Drury Lane they were surprised to see a crowd
about a coach drawn up before the house of Lord Craven, with the steps
down. In this Lord Mohun was seated, with several cases of pistols near
him. Before they had time to inquire into the meaning of this, two of
the soldiers rushed forward, forced Mrs. Bracegirdle away from Page, and
would have dragged her to the coach but that her mother clung about her
neck, in spite of some rough handling by the ruffians. Thereupon up ran
Hill, and he struck at both Page and the old lady with his drawn sword;
but some of the crowd looking on interfered so effectually that he found
himself obliged to withdraw. However, he rallied, and pretending that
there was a disturbance and that the lady was in danger and that she
required safe conduct, he so persuaded Mrs. Bracegirdle that he had no
part in the matter that she allowed him to escort her and her mother to
their home, and Lord Mohun and the soldiers followed as though in
pursuit, Hill occasionally facing round as though to dare them to
approach.
Upon reaching Howard Street the soldiers were dismissed, as being no
longer required, as it was now deemed impossible to carry out the
original plan of a forcible abduction.
Just as Hill was about to withdraw, he plucked Page by the sleeve, and
intimated to him that he had a desire to speak with him in private;
but that gentleman, who was eager to be back at his own house, replied
hastily that "another time would do; to-morrow would serve."
However, no sooner was Mrs. Bracegirdle safe within the house, than
the others, fearing that evil might befall Page, laid hold of him and
drew him within, and closed the door in the face of Captain Hill.
Instead of having his ardour cooled by his rebuff, the captain became
more wroth, and determined to revenge himself on Mountford; and in
conjunction with Lord Mohun, he continued pacing up and down the
street for two mortal hours with his sword drawn.
Those within the house being greatly alarmed at their proceedings,
sent Mrs. Browne out to inquire the reason of this. To this they
replied, with the utmost frankness, that they were awaiting the
arrival of Mr. Mountford. As evidence that the besiegers had no
intention of withdrawing, they sent for a couple of bottles of wine,
when the watch came up and asked what they were doing in the streets
at such an hour of the night with drawn swords in their hands.
These inquiries were cut short at once by Lord Mohun saying, "I am a
peer of the realm; touch me if you dare!" a reply that so staggered
the watch that they slunk away without further question. They had,
however, observed the waiter who brought the wine and they followed
him to the tavern to draw from him an explanation they did not venture
to demand from a nobleman.
Whilst the besiegers were tipping off their wine, the besieged found
an opportunity for sending a messenger to warn Mrs. Mountford of the
danger threatening her husband and to bid her communicate with him.
Nor was this the only one, a second and perhaps a third were also
despatched to caution him. But unhappily every one of these messengers
failed to reach him, and at midnight he came along the street on his
way homeward without entertaining the least apprehension.
Lord Mohun was the first to meet and salute the unhappy man, when the
latter expressed his surprise at finding his lordship there at such an
hour.
"I suppose you have been sent for?" was the curt reply. Mountford
said, No--he was there on his way home from the playhouse.
"You know all about the lady, I imagine," said Lord Mohun.
Mountford not understanding the drift of his words said, "I hope that
my wife has given you no offence."
"You mistake me," said Lord Mohun; "it is Mrs. Bracegirdle that I mean."
"Mrs. Bracegirdle is no concern of mine," replied Mountford; "but I
hope your lordship does not countenance any ill action of Mr. Hill."
The conversation was interrupted by the impatient captain, who
suddenly started forward, and exclaiming, "This is no longer the time
for such discourses!" struck Mountford with his left hand, and
immediately ran him through the body. The wounded man did not fall to
the ground at once; he had still, for a moment, sufficient strength
left to draw his sword, though not to use it, when, exhausted by the
effort, he sank upon the ground.
A cry of murder arose, Hill fled, and the watch came up now from the
tavern where they had been questioning the drawer and imbibing.
Mountford was carried to his own lodgings, where he died, about one
o'clock in the afternoon of the same day, for it was some time after
midnight when the affair took place.
"The grand jury of Middlesex," says Macaulay, "consisting of gentlemen
of note, found a bill of murder against Hill and Mohun. Hill escaped.
Mohun was taken. His mother threw herself at King William's feet, but
in vain. 'It was a cruel act,' said the King. 'I shall leave it to the
law.'
"The trial came on in the Court of the Lord High Steward, and, as
Parliament happened to be sitting, the culprit had the advantage of
being judged by the whole body of the peerage. There was then no
lawyer in the Upper House. It therefore became necessary, for the
first time since Buckhurst had pronounced sentence on Essex and
Southampton, that a peer who had never made jurisprudence his special
study should preside over that grave tribunal. Caermarthen, who, as
Lord President, took precedence of all the nobility, was appointed
Lord High Steward. A full report of the proceedings has come down to
us. No person, who carefully examines that report, and attends to the
opinion unanimously given by the judges in answer to a question which
Nottingham drew up, and in which the facts brought out by the evidence
are stated with perfect fairness, can doubt that the crime of murder
was fully brought home to the prisoner. Such was the opinion of the
King, who was present during the trial; and such was the almost
unanimous opinion of the public. Had the issue been tried by Holt and
twelve plain men at the Old Bailey, there can be no doubt that a
verdict of Guilty would have been returned. The Peers, however, by
sixty-nine votes to fourteen, acquitted their accused brother. One
great nobleman was so brutal and stupid as to say, 'After all, the
fellow was but a player; and players are rogues.' All the newspapers,
all the coffee-house orators complained that the blood of the poor was
shed with impunity by the great. Wits remarked that the only fair
thing about the trial was the show of ladies in the galleries. Letters
and journals are still extant in which men of all shades of opinion,
Whigs, Tories, Non-jurors, condemn the partiality of the tribunal."
On the one hand, the words of the dying man exculpated Mohun from any
share in the actual murder; on the other hand, it is clear from the
uncontradicted testimony of more than one witness, that he was fully
cognizant of Hill's intentions, and that he did not hesitate to
encourage him by his presence through the whole affair. According to
the Attorney-General, his first question, when he surrendered himself,
was, "Has Mr. Hill escaped?" and, upon being answered in the
affirmative, he exclaimed, "I am glad of it! I should not care if I
were hanged for him," his only regret being that Hill had escaped with
very little money about him. He confessed, moreover, to the watch,
that he had changed coats with his friend; the object, of course, was
to throw out the pursuers as much as possible by this slight disguise.
This is Lord Mohun's portrait as drawn by a not unfavourable hand:
"Charles, Lord Mohun, is the representative of a very ancient family,
but he had the misfortune to come to the title young, while the estate
was in decay; his quality introduced him into the best company, but his
wants very often led him into bad; so that he became one of the
arrantest rakes in town, and, indeed, a scandal to the peerage; was
generally a sharer in all riots; and before he was twenty years old was
tried twice for murder by the House of Peers. On his being acquitted at
the last trial, he expressed his contrition for the scandal he brought
upon his degree as peer by his behaviour, in very handsome terms, and
promised to behave himself so, for the future, as not to give further
scandal; and he has been as good as his word; for now he applies himself
in good earnest to the knowledge of the constitution of his country, and
to serve it; and having a good deal of fine and good sense, turned this
way, makes him very considerable in the House. He is brave in his
person, bold in his expressions, and rectifies, as fast as he can, the
slips of his youth, by acts of honesty, which he now glories in more
than he was formerly extravagant. He was married, when very young, to a
niece of my Lord Macclesfield, who, dying without issue, left him a
considerable estate,[18] which he well improves. The Queen continues him
colonel of a regiment of foot. He is of middle stature, inclining to
fat, not thirty years old."
However much he may have intended to amend, Lord Mohun was again
involved in a murder, that of a Mr. Coote, a few years later, in
conjunction with the Earl of Warwick; he was, however, pronounced
innocent by the unanimous suffrage of the Peers.
After this last affair only was it that he amended his ways, and the
author of _The History of Queen Anne_, March 11th, London, 1713, gives
a favourable account of him. "After this last misfortune my Lord Mohun
did wonderfully reclaim; and what by his reading, what by his
conversation with the ablest statesmen, so well improved his natural
parts, that he became a great ornament to the peerage and a strenuous
asserter of the cause of Liberty, and the late Revolution: which last,
however, could not but raise him many enemies; and is, I doubt, the
only reason why his memory is so unfairly, so barbarously treated.
'Tis true, my Lord Mohun, like most men in our cold climate, still
lov'd a merry glass of wine with his friends. But in this he was a
happy reverse to some men, who owe all their bright parts in the
management of affairs to the fumes of Burgundy and Champaign: for he
was exemplarily temperate when he had any business of moment to
attend. He behaved himself so discretely at the Court of Hanover,
whither he accompanyed the late Earl of Macclesfield, whose niece he
had married, that he left an excellent character behind him with the
most serene Elector, and the Princess Sophia, his mother, two allow'd
judges of merit; and when his Highness was to be install'd Knight of
the Garter he appointed the Lord Mohun to be his proxy."[19]
Party feeling strongly coloured the descriptions given of the
character of Lord Mohun. He was a Whig and zealous advocate of the
claims of the Elector of Hanover, and was consequently obnoxious to
the Tories and Jacobites. In the _Examiner_ he is represented in the
worst light; and is even accused of cowardice; but Bishop Burnet was
able to say no more of him than this: "I am sorry I cannot say so much
good of him as I wish; and I had too much kindness for him, to say any
evil unnecessarily."
In 1711 the attention of the legislature was drawn to the subject of
duels by Sir Peter King; and after dwelling on the alarming increase
of the practice, obtained leave to bring in a Bill for the prevention
and punishment of duelling. It was read a first time on May 11th, and
was ordered for a second reading in the ensuing week.
About the same time the attention of the Upper House was also drawn
to the subject in a painful manner. In a debate in the Lords upon the
conduct of the Duke of Ormond in refusing to hazard a general
engagement with the enemy, Earl Pawlet remarked that nobody could
doubt the courage of the Duke. "He was not like a certain general, who
led troops to the slaughter, to cause great numbers of officers to be
knocked on the head in a battle, or against stone walls, in order to
fill his pockets by disposing of their commissions."
That this was levelled at the Duke of Marlborough no one doubted, but he
remained silent, though evidently suffering in mind. Soon after the
House broke up, the Earl Pawlet received a visit from Lord Mohun, who
told him that the Duke of Marlborough desired some explanation of the
words he had used, as certain expressions employed by his lordship were
greatly offensive to him. He would accordingly be very glad to meet him,
and for that purpose desired him "to take a little air in the country."
Earl Pawlet did not affect to misunderstand the hint, but asked Lord
Mohun in plain terms whether he brought a challenge from the Duke.
Lord Mohun answered that he considered what he had said needed no
elucidation, and that he himself would accompany the Duke of
Marlborough as second.
He then took his leave, and Earl Pawlet returned home and confided to
his lady that he was going to fight a duel with the Duke of Marlborough.
The Countess, greatly alarmed for her lord's safety, gave notice of his
intention to the Earl of Dartmouth, who immediately, in the Queen's
name, sent for the Duke of Marlborough and commanded him not to stir
abroad. He also caused Earl Pawlet's house to be guarded by two
sentinels; and having taken these precautions, informed the Queen of
the whole affair. Her Majesty sent at once for the Duke, expressed her
abhorrence of the custom of duelling, and required his word of honour
that he would proceed no further. The Duke pledged his word accordingly,
and the affair terminated, much, doubtless, to the disappointment of
Lord Mohun, who took a delight in these passages of arms.
We come now to the last duel of Lord Mohun, in which he lost his life
and his title expired. The reader will recall the description given of
it in _Esmond_.