About forty years ago, Jabez Woodford, a foreman of shipwrights in the
Plymouth dockyard, whilst carelessly crossing one of the transverse beams
of a seventy-four gun-ship, building in that arsenal, missed his footing,
fell to the bottom of the hold of the huge vessel, and was killed on the
spot. He left a widow and one child--a boy seven years of age, of placid,
endearing disposition, but weak intellect--almost in a state of
destitution. He had been a coarse-tempered, improvident man; and like too
many of his class, in those days at least, dissipated the whole of his
large earnings in present sensuous indulgence, utterly careless or
unmindful of the future. Esther Woodford, who, at the time of her
husband's death, scarcely numbered five-and-twenty years, was still a
remarkably comely, as well as interesting, gentle-mannered person; and
moreover had, for her station in life, received a tolerable education.
Her rash, ill-assorted marriage with Woodford had been hastily contracted
when she was barely seventeen years of age, in consequence of a jealous
pique which she, for some silly reason or other, had conceived regarding
Henry Mason, an intelligent, young seafaring man, of fair prospects in
life, and frank disposition, with whom she had for some time previously,
as the west-country phrase has it, "kept company," and who was, moreover,
tenderly attached to her. Esther's married life was one long repentance
of the rash act; and the severance of the tie which bound her to an
ungenial mate--after the subsidence of the natural horror and compassion
excited by the sudden and frightful nature of the catastrophe--must have
been felt as a most blessed relief. A few weeks afterwards, she accepted
an asylum with her brother-in-law, Davies, a market-gardener in the
vicinity of Plymouth, where, by persevering industry with her needle, and
thrifty helpfulness in her sister's household duties, she endeavored to
compensate her kind-hearted relatives for the support of herself and
helpless, half-witted child. Mason she had never seen since the day
previous to her marriage; but she knew he was prospering in the busy
world, and that, some time before her husband's death, he had been
appointed chief-mate in a first-class merchant-ship trading to the
Pacific. He had sailed about a fortnight previous to that event; and now,
ten lazy months having slowly floated past, the lover of her youth, with
whom, in that last sunny day of her young life--how distant did it seem,
viewed through the long intervening vista of days and nights of grief and
tears!--she had danced so joyously beneath the flowering chestnut-trees,
was once more near her; and it was--oh happiness!--no longer a sin to
think of him--no longer a crime to recall and dwell upon the numberless
proofs of the deep affection, the strong love, he had once felt for her.
_Once_ felt! Perhaps even now!--How swiftly had the intelligence
communicated by her sympathizing sister tinted with bright hues the dark
curtain of the future!
"And yet," murmured poor Esther, the flush of hope fading as suddenly as
it had arisen, as with meek sad eyes she glanced at the reflection of her
features in the small oval glass suspended above the mantel-piece--"I
almost doubt, Susy, dear, if he would recognize me; even if old feelings
and old times have not long since faded from his memory"--
"Stuff and trumpery about fading away!" broke in Mrs. Davies. "Henry
Mason is the same true-hearted man he was eight years ago; and as a
proof that he is, just read this letter, which I promised him to give
you. There, don't go falling into a flustration; don't now, Esther,
and to-morrow market-day and all! Don't cry, Esther," she added
vehemently, but at the same time sobbing furiously herself, and
throwing her arms round her sister's neck: "but perhaps--perhaps it
will do us good, both of us!"
It may he necessary to state that I owe the foregoing particulars to the
interest felt by my wife--herself a native of beautiful Devon--in the
fortunes of this humble household. Esther was her foster-sister; and it
happened that just at this period, it being vacation-time, we were paying
a visit to a family in the neighborhood. A few hours after the receipt of
the welcome letter, my wife chanced to call on Esther relative to some
fancy needlework; and on her return, I was of course favored with very
full and florid details of this little bit of cottage romance; the which
I, from regard to the reader, have carefully noted down, and as briefly
as possible expressed.
We met Henry Mason with his recovered treasure on the following evening;
and certainly a more favorable specimen of the vigorous, active,
bold-featured, frank-spoken British seaman I never met with. To his
comparatively excellent education--for which I understood he was indebted
to his mother, a superior woman, who, having fallen from one of the
little heights of society, had kept a school at Plymouth--in addition to
his correct and temperate habits, he was indebted for the rapid
advance--he was but a few months older than Esther--he had obtained in
the merchant service. The happiness which beamed upon Esther's face did
not appear to be of the exuberant, buoyant character that kindled the
ruddy cheek and ran over at the bright, honest eyes of the hardy sailor:
there seemed to mingle with it a half-doubting, trembling
apprehensiveness; albeit it was not difficult to perceive that,
sorrowfully as had passed her noon of prime, an "Indian summer" of the
soul was rising upon her brightened existence, and already with its first
faint flushes lighting up her meek, doubting eyes, and pale, changing
countenance. Willy, her feeble-minded child, frisked and gambolled by
their side; and altogether, a happier group than they would, I fancy,
have been difficult to find in all broad England.
The next week they were married; and one of the partners in the firm by
which Mason was employed happening to dine with us on the day of the
wedding, the conversation turned for a few minutes on the bridegroom's
character and prospects.
"He has the ring of true metal in him," I remarked; "and is, I should
suppose, a capital seaman?"
"A first-rate one," replied Mr. Roberts. "Indeed so high is my father's
opinion of him, that he intends to confer upon him the command of a fine
brig now building for us in the Thames, and intended for the West India
trade. He possesses also singular courage and daring. Twice, under very
hazardous circumstances, he has successfully risked his life to save men
who had fallen overboard. He is altogether a skilful, gallant seaman."
"Such a man," observed another of the company, "might surely have aspired
higher than to the hand of Esther Woodford, dove-eyed and interesting as
she may be?"
"Perhaps so," returned Mr. Roberts a little curtly; "though
he, it seems, could not have thought so. Indeed it is chiefly of
simple-hearted, chivalrous-minded men like Mason that it can
be with general truth observed--
'On revient toujours à ses premiers amours.'"
The subject then dropped, and it was a considerable time afterwards, and
under altogether altered circumstances, when the newly-married couple
once more crossed my path in life.
It was about eight months after his marriage--though he had been
profitably enough employed in the interim--that Henry Mason, in
consequence of the welcome announcement that the new brig was at last
ready for her captain and cargo, arrived in London to enter upon his new
appointment.
"These lodgings, Esther," said he, as he was preparing to go out, soon
after breakfast, on the morning after his arrival, "are scarcely the
thing; and as I, like you, am a stranger in Cockney-land, I had better
consult some of the firm upon the subject, before we decide upon
permanent ones. In the meantime, you and Willy must mind and keep in
doors when I am not with you, or I shall have one or other of you lost in
this great wilderness of a city. I shall return in two or three hours. I
will order something for dinner as I go along: I have your purse.
Good-by: God bless you both."
Inquiring his way every two or three minutes, Mason presently found
himself in the vicinity of Tower Stairs. A scuffle in front of a
public-house attracted his attention; and his ready sympathies were in an
instant enlisted in behalf of a young sailor, vainly struggling in the
grasp of several athletic men, and crying lustily on the gaping
bystanders for help. Mason sprang forward, caught one of the assailants
by the collar, and hurled him with some violence against the wall. A
fierce outcry greeted this audacious interference with gentlemen who, in
those good old times, were but executing the law in a remarkably good old
manner. Lieutenant Donnagheu, a somewhat celebrated snapper-up of loose
mariners, emerged upon the scene; and in a few minutes was enabled to
exult in the secure possession of an additional prize in the unfortunate
Henry Mason, who, too late, discovered that he had embroiled himself with
a _pressgang_! Desperate, frenzied were the efforts he made to extricate
himself from the peril in which he had rashly involved himself. In vain!
His protestations that he was a mate, a captain, in the merchant service,
were unheeded or mocked at.
To all his remonstrances he only got the professional answer--"His
majesty wants you, and that is enough; so come along, and no more
about it."
Bruised, exhausted, almost mad, he was borne off in triumph to a boat,
into which he was thrust with several others, and swiftly rowed off to a
receiving-ship in the river. Even there his assertions and protestations
were of no avail. Nothing but an Admiralty order, the officer in command
candidly told him, should effect his liberation. His majesty was in need
of seamen; and he was evidently too smart a one to be deprived of the
glory of serving his country. "You must therefore," concluded the
officer, as he turned laughingly upon his heel, "do as thousands of
other fine fellows have been compelled to do--'grin and bear it.'" In
about three weeks from the date of his impressment Mason found himself
serving in the Mediterranean on board the "Active" frigate, Captain
Alexander Gordon, without having been permitted one opportunity of
communicating with the shore. This was certainly very sharp, but it was
not the less very _common_ practice in those great days of triumphant
battles by land and sea.
Very drearily passed the time with the bereaved wife. Her husband had
promised to send home something for dinner, and various groceries; yet
hour after hour went past, and nothing arrived. Morning flushed into
noon, day faded to twilight, and still the well-known and always eager
step sounded not upon the stairs! What could have detained him from his
wife, shut up, imprisoned, as it were, in that hot, hurrying, stifling
city? She feared to listen to the suggestions of her boding heart; and
with feverish restlessness ran out upon the landing, and peered over the
stairs every time a knock or ring was heard at the street-door. This
strange behavior was, it seems, noticed by the landlady of the
lodging-house, and injuriously interpreted. A knock came to the door, and
that person entered to know at what time _Mrs_. ----, she had forgotten
the young woman's name, expected the dinner, she, the landlady, had
undertaken to cook.
Esther timidly replied that her husband had promised to return in two or
three hours at latest; and that she did not comprehend his continued
absence--was indeed quite alarmed about it--
"Your husband!" said the woman, glancing insolently at Esther's figure.
"Are you sure he _is_ your husband?"
The hot blood suffused the temples of the indignant wife as she said,
"This apartment, madam, I believe is mine?"
"Oh, certainly, as long as you can pay for it;" and rudely slamming the
door, the landlady departed.
The long wretched night at last over, Esther rose with the light; and
after giving her son his breakfast from the remains of that of the day
before, set off with him to the place of business of the Messrs. Roberts.
It was early, and one clerk only had as yet arrived at the office. He
informed her that Mr. Henry Mason had not been seen, and that the
partners were greatly annoyed about it, as his immediate presence was
absolutely necessary.
Stunned, terrified, bewildered by the frightful calamity which she
believed had befallen her, she felt convinced that her husband had been
entrapped and murdered for the sake of the money he had about him: the
wretched woman tottered back to her lodgings, and threw herself on the
bed in wild despair. What was to be done for food even for her boy? Her
husband had not only his pocket-book with him containing his larger
money, but had taken her purse! She was alone and penniless in a strange
city! The hungry wailings of her witless child towards evening at length
aroused her from the stupor of despair into which she had fallen. The
miserable resource of pawning occurred to her: she could at least, by
pledging a part of her wardrobe, procure sustenance for her child till
she could hear from her sister; and with trembling hands she began
arranging a bundle of such things as she could best spare, when the
landlady abruptly entered the room, with a peremptory demand--as her
husband was not returned, and did not appear likely to do so--for a
month's rent in advance, that being the term the apartments were engaged
for. The tears, entreaties, expostulations of the miserable wife were of
no avail. Not one article, the woman declared, should leave her house
till her claim was settled. She affected to doubt, perhaps really did so,
that Esther was married; and hinted coarsely at an enforcement of the
laws against persons who had no visible means of subsistence. In a
paroxysm of despair, the unhappy woman rushed out of the house; and
accompanied by her hungry child, again sought the counting-house of the
Messrs. Roberts. She was now as much too late as she had been too early
in the morning: the partners and clerks had gone, and she appears to have
been treated with some rudeness by the porter, who was closing the
premises when she arrived. Possibly the wildness of her looks, and the
incoherence of her speech and manner, produced an impression unfavorable
to her. Retracing her steps--penniless, hungry, sick at heart--she
thought, as she afterwards declared, that she recognized my wife in one
of the numerous ladies seated before the counters of a fashionable shop
in one of the busiest thoroughfares. She entered, and not till she
approached close to the lady discovered her mistake. She turned
despairingly away; when a piece of rich lace, lying apparently unheeded
on the counter, met her eye, and a dreadful suggestion crossed her
fevered brain; here at least was the means of procuring food for her
wailing child. She glanced hastily and fearfully round. No eye, she
thought, observed her; and, horror of horrors! a moment afterwards she
had concealed the lace beneath her shawl, and with tottering feet was
hastily leaving the shop. She had not taken half-a-dozen steps when a
heavy hand was laid upon her shoulder, and a voice, as of a serpent
hissing in her ear, commanded her to restore the lace she had stolen.
Transfixed with shame and terror, she stood rooted to the spot, and the
lace fell on the floor.
"Fetch an officer," said the harsh voice, addressing one of the shopmen.
"No--no--no!" screamed the wretched woman, falling on her knees in wild
supplication. "For my child's sake--in mercy of the innocent babe as yet
unborn--pity and forgive me!"
The harsh order was iterated; and Esther Mason, fainting with shame and
agony, was conveyed to the prison in Giltspur Street. The next day she
was fully committed to Newgate on the capital charge of privately
stealing in a shop to the value of five pounds. A few hours after her
incarceration within those terrible walls, she was prematurely delivered
of a female child.
I have no moral doubt whatever, I never have had, that at the time of the
committal of the felonious act, the intellect of Esther Mason was
disordered. Any other supposition is inconsistent with the whole tenor
of her previous life and character "Lead us not into temptation" is
indeed the holiest, because the humblest prayer.
Three weeks had elapsed before the first intimation of these events
reached me, in a note from the chaplain of Newgate, an excellent,
kind-hearted man, to whom Mrs. Mason had confided her sad story. I
immediately hastened to the prison; and in a long interview with her,
elicited the foregoing statement. I readily assured her that all which
legal skill could do to extricate her from the awful position in which
she stood, the gravity of which I did not affect to conceal, should be
done. The offence with which she was charged had supplied the scaffold
with numberless victims; and tradesmen were more than ever clamorous for
the stern execution of a law which, spite of experience, they still
regarded as the only safeguard of their property. My wife was overwhelmed
with grief; and in her anxiety to save her unhappy foster-sister, sought,
without my knowledge, an interview with the prosecutor, in the hope of
inducing him not to press the charge. Her efforts were unavailing. He had
suffered much, he said, from such practices, and was "upon principle"
determined to make an example of every offender he could catch. As to the
plea that the husband had been forcibly carried off by a pressgang, it
was absurd; for what would become of the property of tradesmen if the
wife of every sailor so entrapped were to be allowed to plunder shops
with impunity? This magnificent reasoning was of course unanswerable; and
the rebuked petitioner abandoned her bootless errand in despair. Messrs.
Roberts, I should have mentioned, had by some accident discovered the
nature of the misfortune which had befallen their officer, and had
already made urgent application to the Admiralty for his release.
The Old Bailey sessions did not come on for some time: I, however, took
care to secure at once, as I did not myself practice in that court, the
highest talent which its bar afforded. Willy, who had been placed in a
workhouse by the authorities, we had properly taken care of till he could
be restored to his mother; or, in the event of her conviction, to his
relatives in Devonshire.
The sessions were at last on: a "true bill" against Esther Mason for
shoplifting, as it was popularly termed, was unhesitatingly found, and
with a heavy heart I wended my way to the court to watch the proceedings.
A few minutes after I entered, Mr. Justice Le Blanc and Mr. Baron Wood,
who had assisted at an important case of stockjobbing conspiracy, just
over, left the bench: the learned recorder being doubtless considered
quite equal to the trial of a mere capital charge of theft.
The prisoner was placed in the dock; but try as I might, I could not
look at her. It happened to be a calm bright summer day; the air, as if
in mockery of those death-sessions, humming with busy, lusty life; so
that, sitting with my back to the prisoner, I could, as it were, read
her demeanor in the shadow thrown by her figure on the opposite
sun-lighted wall. There she stood, during the brief moments which sealed
her earthly doom, with downcast eyes and utterly dejected posture; her
thin fingers playing mechanically with the flowers and sweet-scented
herbs spread scantily before her. The trial was very brief: the
evidence, emphatically conclusive, was confidently given, and vainly
cross-examined. Nothing remained but an elaborate _ad misericordiam_
excusative defence, which had been prepared by me, and which the
prisoner begged her counsel might be allowed to read. This was of course
refused; the recorder remarking, they might as well allow counsel for
felons to _address_ juries, as read defences; and _that_, as every
practical man knew, would be utterly subversive of the due
administration of justice. The clerk of the court would read the paper,
if the prisoner felt too agitated to do so. This was done; and very
vilely done. The clerk, I dare say, read as well as he was able; but
old, near-sighted, and possessed of anything but a clear enunciation,
what could be expected? The defence, so read, produced not the slightest
effect either on the court or jury. The recorder briefly commented on
the conclusiveness of the evidence for the prosecution; and the jury, in
the same brief, business-like manner, returned a verdict of Guilty.
"What have you to say," demanded the clerk, "why sentence of death should
not be pronounced upon you, according to law?"
The shadow started convulsively as the terrible words fell from the man's
lips; and I saw that the suddenly-upraised eyes of the prisoner were
fastened on the face of the fearful questioner. The lips, too, appeared
to move; but no sound reached my ears.
"Speak, woman," said the recorder; "if you have anything to urge before
sentence is pronounced."
I started up, and turning to the prisoner, besought her in hurried
accents to speak. "Remind them of the infant at your breast--your
husband"--
"Who is that conferring with the prisoner?" demanded the judge in an
angry voice.
I turned, and confronted him with a look as cold and haughty as his
own. He did not think proper to pursue the inquiry further; and after
muttering something about the necessity of not interrupting the
proceedings of the court, again asked the prisoner if she had
anything to urge.
"Not for myself--not for my sake," at last faintly murmured the
trembling woman; "but for that of my poor dear infant--my poor witless
boy! I do not think, sir, I was in my right mind. I was starving. I was
friendless. My husband, too, whom you have heard"--She stopped abruptly;
a choking sob struggled in her throat; and but for the supporting arm of
one of the turnkeys, she would have fallen to the ground.
"Unhappy, guilty woman," said the recorder, with the coolness of a demon,
"the plea of insanity you would set up is utterly untenable. Your
husband, it seems, is serving his majesty in the royal navy; defending
his country, whilst his wife was breaking its laws, by the commission of
a crime which, but for the stern repression of the law, would sap the
foundations of the security of property, and"--
I could endure no more. The atmosphere of the court seemed to stifle me;
and I rushed for relief into the open air. Before, however, I had reached
the street, a long, piercing scream informed me that the learned judge
_had done his duty_.
No effort was spared during the interval which elapsed previous to the
recorder presenting his report to the privy-counsel--a peculiar
privilege at that time attached to the office--to procure a mitigation
of the sentence. A petition, setting forth the peculiar circumstances
of the case, was carefully prepared; and by the indefatigable exertions
of an excellent Quaker gentleman--whom, as he is still alive, and might
not choose to have his name blazoned to the world, I will call William
Friend--was soon very numerously signed. The prosecutor, however,
obstinately refused to attach his name to the document; and the absence
of his signature--so strangely did men reason on such matters in those
days--would, it was feared, weigh heavily against the success of the
petition. The amiable and enlightened Sir Samuel Romilly not only
attached his name, but aided us zealously by his advice and influence.
In short, nothing was omitted that appeared likely to attain the
desired object.
Two days before the petition was to be forwarded to the proper quarter,
Henry Mason arrived in England, the exertions of his employers having
procured his discharge. The "Active" was one of Captain Hoste's squadron,
which obtained the celebrated victory off Lissa, over the Franco-Venetian
fleet commanded by Admiral Dobourdieu. Henry Mason, it appeared by the
testimonials of the captain and officers of his ship, had greatly
distinguished himself in the action. We inclosed these papers with the
petition; and then, having done all in our power, awaited with anxious
impatience the result of the recorder's report. It was announced to me,
as I was sitting somewhat later than usual at chambers, by Mr. William
Friend. The judgment to die was confirmed! All our representations had
not sufficed to counterbalance the supposed necessity of exhibiting
terrible examples of the fate awaiting the perpetrators of an offence
said to be greatly on the increase. Excellent William Friend wept like a
child as he made the announcement.
There are many persons alive who recollect this horrible tragedy--this
national disgrace--this act of gross barbarity on the part of the great
personage, who, first having carried off the poor woman's husband, left
her to die for an act the very consequence of that robbery. Who among the
spectators can ever forget that heart-rending scene--the hangman taking
the baby from the breast of the wretched creature just before he put her
to death! But let us not rake up these terrible reminiscences. Let us
hope that the _truly guilty_ are forgiven. And let us take consolation
from reflecting that this event led the great Romilly to enter on his
celebrated career as a reformer of the criminal law.
The remains of Esther Mason were obtained from the Newgate officials,
and quietly interred in St. Sepulchre's church-yard. A plain slab, with
her name only plainly chiselled upon it, was some time afterwards placed
above the grave. A few years ago I attended a funeral in the same
grave-yard; and after a slight search, discovered the spot. The
inscription, though of course much worn, was still quite legible.
I had not seen Henry Mason since his return; but I was glad to hear from
Mr. William Friend that, after the first passionate burst of rage and
grief had subsided, he had, apparently at least, thanks to the tender and
pious expostulations of his wife--with whom, by the kind intervention of
the sheriffs, he was permitted long and frequent interviews--settled down
into calmness and resignation. One thing only he would not bear to hear
even from her, and that was any admission that she had been guilty of,
even the slightest offence. A hint of the kind, however unintentional,
would throw him into a paroxysm of fury; and the subject was consequently
in his presence studiously avoided.
A few days after the execution, Mr. William Friend called on me just
after breakfast, accompanied by the bereaved husband. I never saw so
changed a man. All the warm kindliness of his nature had vanished, and
was replaced by a gloomy fierce austerity, altogether painful to
contemplate.
"Well, sir," said he, as he barely touched my proffered hand, "they have
killed her, you see, spite of all you could say or do. It much availed
me, too, that I had helped to win their boasted victories;" and he
laughed with savage bitterness.
"Henry--Henry!" exclaimed William Friend, in a reproving accent.
"Well, well, sir," rejoined Mason, impatiently, "you are a good man, and
have of course your own notions on these matters; I also have mine. Or,
perhaps, you think it is only the blood of the rich and great which, shed
unjustly, brings forth the iron harvest? Forgive me," he added, checking
himself. "I respect you both; but my heart is turned to stone. You do not
know--none ever knew but I--how kind, how loving, how gentle was that
poor long-suffering girl."
He turned from us to hide the terrible agony which convulsed him.
"Henry," said Mr. Friend, taking him kindly by the hand, "we pity thee
sincerely, as thou knowest; but thy bitter, revengeful expressions are
unchristian, sinful. The authorities whom thou, not for the first time,
railest on so wildly, acted, be sure of it, from a sense of duty; a
mistaken one, in my opinion, doubtless; still"--
"Say no more, sir," interrupted Mason. "We differ in opinion upon the
subject. And now, gentlemen, farewell. I wished to see you, sir, before I
left this country forever, to thank you for your kind, though fruitless
exertions. Mr. Friend has promised to be steward for poor Willy of all I
can remit for his use. Farewell! God bless you both!" He was gone!
War soon afterwards broke out with the United States of America, and Mr.
Friend discovered that one of the most active and daring officers in the
Republican navy was Henry Mason, who had entered the American service in
the maiden name of his wife; and that the large sums he had remitted from
time to time for the use of Willy, were the produce of his successful
depredations on British commerce. The instant Mr. Friend made the
discovery, he refused to pollute his hands with moneys so obtained, and
declined all further agency in the matter. Mason, however, contrived to
remit through some other channel to the Davies's, with whom the boy had
been placed; and a rapid improvement in their circumstances was soon
visible. These remittances ceased about the middle of 1814; and a
twelvemonth after the peace with America, we ascertained that Henry Mason
had been killed in the battle on Lake Champlain, where he had
distinguished himself, as everywhere else, by the reckless daring and
furious hate with which he fought against the country which, in his
unreasoning frenzy, he accused of the murder of his wife. He was
recognized by one of his former messmates in the "Active;" who, conveyed
a prisoner on board the American commander Macdonough's ship, recognized
him as he lay stretched on the deck, in the uniform of an American naval
officer; his countenance, even in death, wearing the same stormful
defiant expression which it assumed on the day that his beloved Esther
perished on the scaffold.