interesting, I shall give them as they have been handed down to me,
although they may be by some considered as tedious in the detail; yet as
they are circumstances very imperfectly recorded, only in the early
editions of Lord Clarendon's History of the Rebellion, and as they relate
to events somewhat similar to the present times, wherein a prominent part
was taken by one of my forefathers, I trust that they will not be esteemed
superfluous, as making a component part of my memoirs, in reference to the
political part taken by one of my family at this important epoch of the
English history. The collier took him up behind on his horse, dressed as
he was in female attire, and having struck across the country by some
private roads, he arrived at his habitation, a lone cottage situated on
the side of a large common, where he remained concealed, anxiously
awaiting the approach of night, and dreading[3] every moment the
appearance of the officers of justice in pursuit of their victim. In the
mean time the collier had procured two muskets and a blunderbuss, which he
had got loaded, determined to stand by the Colonel, who, if driven to
extremities, was resolved to sell his life as dearly as possible, but not
to be taken again alive. But, to return to the jail; when the officers of
death arrived to unbolt the door of the intended victim, what must have
been their surprise and indignation to have found in his bed a woman, a
brave and patriotic female, who gloried in having saved the life of a high
spirited and beloved brother! With what delight have we read of the
conduct of Madame Lavalette, who saved her husband from an untimely death
by similar means, who, by her virtuous devotion, rescued the victim marked
out for the treacherous revenge of a weak, wicked, and pusillanimous
prince; with what pleasure has every humane and patriotic bosom been
roused into admiration, at the noble, generous, and successful exertions
of Sir R. Wilson and his friends, to assist in snatching the life of that
devoted victim, from the bloody hand of the executioner! But many brave
men have voluntarily sacrificed themselves to save the life of a friend;
in the pages of history, we find that many an excellent wife has done the
same to save a beloved husband; but where shall we find a similar instance
of disinterested devotion in a sister?--To be the descendant of such a
woman--to bear the same name and belong to her family, is in itself
something that I am proud to boast of. With what delight have I (while yet
a boy) listened to this recital, while my father dwelt on it with rapture;
his eye glistening with a dignified pride as he recounted the tale of this
heroine of the family! How often have I been sent up stairs to unlock the
old oak chest, and to bring down the musty records of these eventful days,
that they might be unrolled either to refresh my father's memory, or to
vouch for particular acts and circumstances! How many times, subsequently,
has it been my lot to turn to this or that particular event, and while he
enjoyed his pipe, how often did I at his command read the minute detail as
I found it written, upon the old musty parchments and papers! However, to
proceed, Colonel Desbrow, who then had the command of Oliver's troops at
this place, was instantly informed of the flight of the prisoner; he
ordered Margery to appear before him, which she did habited in her
brother's clothes, and he threatened to have her executed instantly,
without judge or jury, in her brother's stead, if she did not immediately
inform him of the whole plot, and assist in the re-capture of her brother.
She calmly replied, that she had not the least objection to comply with
his demand as far as she knew of the plot. She confessed that she went
into the prison to visit her brother with the intention to effect his
escape if possible; that neither her brother, nor even her sister, had the
slightest knowledge of her intentions till she proposed it to him in the
prison, that there she found him resigned to his fate, and it was with the
greatest difficulty that she at last prevailed upon him to put it into
practice; that all she knew of him was, that he had left the room with her
sister Elizabeth, but which way or where he was gone she knew nothing;
then, with great and dignified firmness, she added, even if she had known
any thing of his route, Colonel Desbrow must be aware, that as she had the
courage and goodness to plan and effect his escape, no threats, not even
the torture, should induce her to do any thing that might place him in
their power again. Elizabeth was instantly taken into custody and examined
also, but she knew nothing more than her sister. They were both consigned
to the dungeon that he had quitted, and the scaffold, although it remained
fixed for some days, it mourned for the loss of its victim, and the gaping
multitude daily stared in vain for the consummation of the bloody
sacrifice. Col. Desbrow sent off dispatches to the Government, raised a
Hue and Cry to search every house they came to, and dispatched messengers
to all the out-ports, so that neither pains, expense, nor trouble were
spared to retake the fugitive. In the mean time the sentence of Grove and
Penruddock was put in execution. They were both beheaded on the same
morning, one at Exeter, and the other at some other jail. It is a very
remarkable coincidence of circumstances, that at the time myself, the
lineal heir and descendant of Colonel Hunt, am confined in this jail by
the state policy of the day, Colonel Desbrow, the lineal descendant of the
very Colonel Desbrow, who then had the command of this district as a
soldier and servant of Cromwell, is at this very time an officer in the
service of the present reigning family, and, I believe, an attendant about
the person of the Sovereign. Colonel Hunt remained concealed in the
cottage of his protector, but when night came they were too agitated to
retire to rest; they therefore barricadoed the door of their little
fortress as well as they could, and, having put out the lights, took their
station at the bed-room window, each with a loaded firelock, and all the
arms and ammunition they could muster for re-loading, preparatory to the
best and most determined defence in case of necessity. In this they were
ably and resolutely assisted by the wife of the collier, both of whom are
recorded to have evinced the most heroic courage, coolness, and presence
of mind upon this, to them, desperate and trying occasion, which qualities
were soon put to the test, by the sudden and boisterous arrival of the
_Hue & Cry_, consisting of 8 or 10 mounted troops, accompanied by an
officer belonging to the Sheriff. As that which followed relating to this
rencontre is described minutely, and in the most simple manner, I will
give it _verbatim_, as I find it recorded in the family document, from
which I have taken the whole narrative. Colonel Hunt and the Collier were
standing at the window, each with a loaded musket; the collier's wife
stood behind, with a loaded blunderbuss in one hand, and with the other
she was to supply the powder and slugs, for they had no ball, for
reloading. They were in this order when the commander of the gang loudly
halloed and demanded admittance. This, as was agreed upon by the party
within, was repeated three times before any answer was given, or any
movement made from within. At length, the Collier opened the casement of
the thatched cottage, and, rubbing his eyes as if he had just awoke out of
his first sleep, he exclaimed, in the broad Somersetshire dialect, "What's
thow want makin such a naise there?" The reply was, "We want admittance:
we are the Hue and Cry, come to search every house for a prisoner that has
escaped from Ilchester jail in woman's clothes." At which the Collier
exclaimed, "Ha, ha, ha! what a pack of fools, to come to look for a man in
woman's clothes at this time o' the night." The officer, with a stern
voice, demanded immediate admittance, saying, that they had a warrant,
signed by Colonel Desbrow, for searching every house; and that, unless he
came down and opened the door, they would force their way in immediately;
upon which the Collier turned round and said, as if speaking to his wife,
"Come, dame, you must get up and strike a light, and we will let the
gentlemen in presently." There was then some pretended delay in finding
the tinder-box, and at length the Collier began striking the steel with
the flint, and, after bestowing a few curses on the dampness of the
tinder, intentionally struck down the tinderbox, tinder and all, upon
which he said, "There, now, they must come in and search in the dark." All
this time they were actually preparing to fire upon the Hue and Cry, and
just as they had taken aim, and were upon the point of drawing their
triggers, the Captain of the gang gave the Collier two or three heavy
curses, and said to his men, "Come, let us be off to some more likely
place: there is nobody here but that stupid fellow, that does not appear
to know his right hand from his left." They therefore galloped off to
search the next house, leaving to Colonel Hunt and his faithful friends in
adversity, the uninterrupted possession of his safe and secure retreat;
where he remained concealed, till, in the disguise of some of the
Collier's clothes, he contrived, soon afterwards, to escape to France,
accompanied by his friend. He was received by Charles with open arms, with
every demonstration of gratitude, and professions of future reward, in
case he should succeed in re-establishing himself upon the throne of
England. In the meanwhile, Cromwell, enraged at the escape of one, who had
discovered such intrepid and persevering hostility to his power,
confiscated the whole of his estates, kept his sisters, Elizabeth and
Margery, close prisoners in this jail, and frequently threatened to
execute the latter, unless Hunt would return from France, and surrender
himself to his fate. This reaching the ears of Colonel Hunt in France, and
fearing for the safety of such excellent sisters, he at length resolved to
return and rescue them from their unpleasant and precarious situation, by
resigning himself into the hands of Cromwell.--Charles remonstrated in
vain, as Hunt appeared resolute in his determination. The Prince,
therefore, put him under arrest, and forcibly detained him in custody to
prevent him from surrendering himself. His two sisters were confined _two
years._ When they were set at liberty, Charles released him from his
confinement; he remained in constant attendance about his person, returned
with him in the same vessel, and assisted in his restoration to the
throne, which had been withheld from him during the life of Cromwell.
Colonel Hunt, as well as all his friends, expected the immediate
restoration of his estates, which had been confiscated. In fact no one
could have expected less than this act of justice at least, in return for
his long, zealous and faithful services. But, on the contrary, the secret
advisers of the grateful prince recommended to him by all means to
endeavour to conciliate his enemies, and to let his friends shift for
themselves, which advice he followed to the letter in this instance. As
Colonel Hunt's estates had fallen into powerful hands, Charles absolutely
refused to take any measures for their restoration. Thus was this faithful
partisan of royalty rewarded for all his services, by one of the basest
acts of ingratitude that ever disgraced the character even of a prince.
How truly verified was the prophetic and sublime admonition of Scripture,
"Put not your trust in princes." However, Colonel Hunt was offered the
Chancellorship of the Duchy of Lancaster for life, which offer he
indignantly refused, and in disgust retired into the country, where he
married and passed the remainder of his life in tranquillity, accompanied
by his sisters, upon a small estate in the parish of Enford in the county
of Wilts, which had been overlooked by the agents of Cromwell. Here, with
the property he had with his lady, and the wreck of his fortune, he
sustained the character of a gentleman to a good old age, leaving an only
son, to whom Queen Anne gave the colonelcy of a regiment of foot. This was
the last of my family who was ever in the employment of the government, or
who ever received one shilling of the public money in any capacity
whatever.
This little estate descended to my grandfather, who married Miss Biggs of
Stockton, and, at his death, it came, considerably encumbered, to my
father, in the year 1774, the year after I was born. Finding, during the
life time of his father, that this was a very poor property to live upon
as a gentleman, he turned his mind to business, and to the improvement of
his fortune. He married at the age of forty-one to Miss Powell who was
only nineteen, the eldest daughter of a respectable farmer of Week near
Devizes, and went to live at Widdington, in the parish of Upavon, a lone
farm situated upon Salisbury Plain, not within one mile of any other house
whatever. The 6th day of November, 1773, gave birth to the author of these
memoirs, and as I was the first born, my father having a great deal of the
old family pride about him, the event was commemorated in a very memorable
and extraordinary manner. It was the custom of the country to celebrate
the birth of a child by inviting the friends and neighbours to partake of
a _sugar-toast_ feast, which consisted of toast well baked, sliced in
layers, in a large bowl, interspersed with sugar and nutmeg, well soaked
in boiling ale, or what was called in that country, good old October. My
father as soon as he was about to marry, anticipating the natural result,
prepared and provided two hogsheads of real stingo for the occasion, it
being brewed exactly fifteen bushels to the hogshead, which he liberally
determined should be devoted to celebrate the happy event, which was
literally carried into effect. I have very often heard those who were
present, and who participated in the good cheer and rejoicing, mention
these circumstances. It was usual, in that part of the country, upon these
occasions, to have a day fixed and set apart for the feast, when all the
neighbours were invited to partake and drink to the health of the good
lady in the straw, and long life to the little stranger. But upon this
occasion my father set no bounds to his joy, and determined to keep it up,
which he did, till the whole to the last hoop of the stingo was gone. I
have heard the nurse say that she toasted bread from morning till night
for a fortnight, and that in the whole there could not have been less
bread used than what was made from two bags of flour. The 6th of November
was annually celebrated as long as my father lived, by a dinner which he
gave to his neighbours and friends, and one thing was never forgotten,
which was a bumper toast to the memory of Colonel Thomas and Miss Margery
Hunt; which generally concluded by the production of the sword, which
Charles the second took from his side and presented to the Colonel on his
arrival in France, which my father with great pride exhibited to his
friends, frequently accompanied by some part of the foregoing narrative.
My mother was of a weak and nervous constitution, and I inherited in some
degree, when a child, her complaint, for I was very delicate, although
remarkable for activity and high spirits. I remember about a month before
I first went to school, which was at the early age of only five years and
a half, I rode to Magdalen-hill fair near Winchester, a distance of
thirty-one miles, and back again the same day, with my father. To ride
sixty-two miles in one day for a boy not five years and a half old, which
I did without any apparent fatigue, was considered rather an extraordinary
omen of my future capability for active exertion. I was sent to a
boarding-school at Tilshead in Wiltshire, at five and a half years of age,
and, my father told me at my departure, "that I was going to begin a
little world for myself." Before I mounted my poney he seriously gave me
his blessing and his parting advice, which was delivered in a very
emphatic manner, my mother anxiously listening, while a tear glistened in
her eye. "Go," said he, "my dear, and may heaven bless and direct all your
actions, so that you may grow up to be an honest, a brave, and a good man;
but remember well what I now say: you must fight your own battles amongst
your schoolfellows as well as you can. If I ever hear that you are
quarrelsome I shall detest you, but if I find that you are a coward I will
disown and disinherit you." This was the language of one of the best of
fathers to his son, a child of five years and a half old, and it speaks
volumes as to the character of the man and the parent. This school, which
was situated in a healthy village upon Salisbury Plain, consisted of a
master and an usher, who had the care and instruction of sixty-three boys.
The scholars were better fed than taught; but as a healthy situation was
more looked to than their education, by the parents of those children who
were sent there, the discipline was calculated to give general
satisfaction. We learned to read (the Bible), to write, and cast accounts,
and at the end of one year I was taken from this school.
Beyond the common-place events incident to an early initiation into the
tricks and frolics of a school-boy, there occurred, during my stay at this
place, nothing worthy of being introduced here; with the exception,
however, of one very important circumstance, relative to the strict
discipline maintained by my father, in all cases where there was the
slightest deviation from truth. A violation of truth was always sure to be
punished by him with the greatest severity. As the circumstance to which I
allude made a strong and lasting impression upon my mind, and in a great
measure laid the foundation for my general rule of action ever since, I
shall faithfully record it.
During the year that I was at Tilshead I came home for the Midsummer
holidays. On the last Thursday, before I returned, I accompanied my father
to Devizes market, and while he was taking his dinner and selling his corn
I was directed to go to Week, about half a mile distant, to dine with and
see my grandfather. I set off to walk thither, but on my road there was a
number of persons collected on the green, seeing some soldiers fire at a
target--The firing was kept up in rapid succession. I felt alarmed and was
fearful of passing them; I therefore, returned into the town, and having
passed the time away in play with some boys that I met, I returned to my
father at the inn and answered the questions that he put to me, relative
to my grandfather, so as to make him believe that I had been there as he
desired me, being _ashamed_ to confess the truth, that I was afraid to
pass the soldiers. On the following Monday, I went to school again,
without thinking any more of the falsehood that I had been guilty of;
however, about six o'clock in the afternoon of the next Friday, I was
surprised and delighted to see my father ride up to the door of the
school-yard. I ran to meet him, but he received me rather coolly, which I
scarcely perceived; but he asked to see Mr. Cooper, my master, who came
out and invited him to get off his horse, which he declined, and said that
I might ride a little way with him on his road home, if my master had no
objection, and I could walk back; which was readily assented to--All this
was done with a dignified calmness which I did not comprehend. However, as
I rode along, seated before him; he began to question me as to the truth
of some transactions, that had passed during the holidays, and at length
came to the visit to my grandfather. The whole fabrication flashed across
my mind at once, and the mighty secret of all his apparent solemnity had
such an effect upon my nerves that I should, I am sure, have fallen from
the horse if he had not held me on.
At length, after I had confessed the whole truth, which he did not appear
to believe, he broke out into the following exclamation, "you have been
guilty of an abominable falsehood, and you have now, as is always the
case, told me another artful lie, in order to screen yourself from the
punishment which you deserve, and to give you which I have ridden over
here eight miles on purpose. Your conduct has almost broken your afflicted
mother's heart, and has rendered me completely miserable. I would rather
follow you to the grave than live to see you bearing the character of a
liar, and I will now nearly half kill you for your infamous behaviour."
Upon which he lifted me off by the side of the road, on the down, no
person being within hearing or sight, and having alighted, and tied his
horse to a bush, all remonstrance and intreaties on my part proved in
vain: he made me strip off my coat, and, with a smart stick, he gave me a
most severe flogging. As he helped me on with my coat, and sent me back to
school, I saw the big tear trickle down his noble, manly cheek; a
convincing proof to me, even at that time, that he suffered much more in
performing such a painful duty to save a child from disgrace, than I did
in receiving such a severe, though well-merited, chastisement. Although I
thought the punishment very harsh at the time, yet I felt conscious that I
deserved it; and he performed the heart-rending task in such a manner as
convinced me of its justice, and the more I reflected upon it the more I
was satisfied that it arose from the greatest parental affection. It made
the most lasting impression upon my mind, and stamped my determination, at
all hazards, to speak the truth in future. The kindness of my father and
mother was such, that they never mentioned the subject afterwards, till I
was grown up to manhood, and thanked him for it. It was a severe but
excellent lesson for me, and I have always found that as honesty is the
best policy, so is truth in the end always sure to prevail. Although I
know I am sent here for speaking boldly and publicly the _truth_, and for
always under every circumstance acting up to its lovely and substantial
precepts; yet I never felt more grateful than I do at this moment, to my
excellent and noble-minded father, for inculcating the principle of always
speaking the truth, notwithstanding that I am suffering for practising it.
He used to say nothing could be more dangerous than the doctrine so
frequently promulgated, "that the truth should not be spoken at all
times;" thus leaving it to be inferred that falsehood was sometimes
justifiable. Although, he added, there are times when it may be prudent
for a man not to speak at all, yet when he does speak, nothing but a
time-serving coward would hesitate to speak boldly the truth. This was the
language of that man to whom I owe my existence, and from whom I imbibed,
at a very early age, those principles of veracity, justice, humanity, and
public spirit, the free exercise of which, although it consigned his
forefather as well as his descendant to the _same_ prison; yet, such is
the consoling and heart-cheering effect of following the dictates of an
honest mind, that it not only tranquillizes the passions, and checks their
overflowing the due bounds of discretion, while under the influence of
prosperity, but also conveys to the persecuted captive that inward
satisfaction, which makes reflection, even in a prison, a source of
delight, and teaches him to despise that outward shew of mirth and
affected gaiety which accompany the selfish votaries of pleasure, who
sacrifice every honest independent principle at the shrine of fashion,
till the man is degraded to a mere time-serving pander in the Temple of
Folly.
When I left this school, Mr. Cooper, the master, came round during the
holidays, as was customary, to collect his bills. My father, having
settled the amount and invited him to dine, informed him of his intention
to remove me to Hursley, in Hampshire; which he did at the recommendation
of Sir Thomas Heathcot, whom he had met at Mr. Wyndham's, at Dinton, of
whom my father rented Widdington Farm. Mr. Cooper, who was one of the best
hearted and worthy men that perhaps ever lived, and who possessed as
little of the pedantry and stiffness of a schoolmaster, as any man who had
spent his life in such an occupation, replied, that he was very sorry to
part with me, as he had no doubt I should some day make as clever, and he
hoped as good, a man as my father. The only fault in me of which he had to
complain was, that I was too volatile, and inattentive to my books; but he
added, that he could already discover sufficient capacity to enable me,
with a little steadiness, to become a very good scholar. Then, addressing
himself particularly to my mother, he said, that he was bound in justice
to declare, that he had not a more tractable or better-disposed boy in his
school; that I was a generous and warm-hearted lad, and that my
school-fellows would be sorry to hear that I was going to leave them. He
spent the day with my father and mother, and in the most benignant and
good-humoured manner, recounted some of the idle boyish tricks and
frolicks that he had detected me in; assuring them, at the same time, that
I had been punished only _once_ during my stay with him, and that was for
a venial offence, which was committed out of school hours.
Young as I was, being under seven years of age, when I left this school,
I, nevertheless, formed connections and attachments, which have existed to
this hour with unabated sincerity and uninterrupted friendship. And, as a
gratifying proof of this fact, one of my then school fellows, Mr. Thomas
Cousens, of Heytesbury, with whom I have ever since that period been on
the most friendly footing, was the very first person who came to visit me
after my arrival at this prison. He no sooner heard of my sentence than he
mounted his horse, and before I had scarcely had time to look round my new
habitation, the name of my friend Cousens was announced, who had ridden
upwards of thirty miles; and, in the true spirit of disinterested genuine
friendship, proffered not only his hand but his heart, to serve me in any
way that lay in his power. I have indeed received innumerable proofs of
kindness and sympathy from various quarters of the empire, since my
arrival here; but the recollection of this prompt and efficient testimony
of the sincerity of his friendship, will only be forgotten by me in the
grave.