SUCCESS OF THE SONG.
Dibdin’s Song—Dibdin and the Squire good fellows well met—Moody a
Character after Dibdin’s own heart—The Squire’s Gift—Incledon—The
Shropshire Fox-hunters on the Stage at Drury Lane.
THE reader will have perceived that George Forester and Charles Dibdin
were good fellows well met, and that no two men were ever better fitted
to appreciate each other. Like the popular monarch of the time, each
prided himself upon being a Briton; each admired every new distinguishing
trait of nationality, and gloried in any special development of national
pluck and daring. No one more than Mr. Forester was ready to endorse
that charming bit of history Dibdin gave of his native land in his song
of “The snug little Island,” or would join more heartily in the chorus:—
“Search the globe round, none can be found
So happy as this little island.”
[Picture: A meet at Hangster’s gate]
No one could have done its geography or have painted the features of its
inhabitants in fewer words or stronger colours. We use the word stronger
rather than brighter, remembering that Dibdin drew his heroes redolent of
tar, of rum, and tobacco. He had the knack of seizing upon broad
national characteristics, and, like a true artist, of bringing them
prominently into the foreground by means of such simple accessories as
seemed to give them force and effect.
In the Willey whipper-in Dibdin found the same unsophisticated bit of
primitive nature cropping up which he so successfully brought out in his
portraits of salt-water heroes; he found the same spirit differently
manifested; for had Moody served in the cock-pit, the gun-room, on deck,
or at the windlass, he would have been a “Ben Backstay” or a “Poor
Jack”—from that singleness of aim and daring which actuated him. How
clearly Dibdin set forth this sentiment in that stanza of the song of
“Poor Jack,” in which the sailor, commenting upon the sermon of the
chaplain, draws this conclusion:—
“D’ye mind me, a sailor should be, every inch,
All as one as a piece of a ship;
And, with her, brave the world without off’ring to flinch,
From the moment the anchor’s a-trip.
As to me, in all weathers, all times, tides, and ends,
Nought’s a trouble from duty that springs;
My heart is my Poll’s, and my rhino my friend’s,
And as for my life, ’tis my King’s.”
The country was indebted to this faculty of rhyming for much of that
daring and devotion to its interests which distinguished soldiers and
sailors at that remarkable period. Dibdin’s songs, as he, with pride,
was wont to say, were “the solace of sailors on long voyages, in storms,
and in battles.” His “Tom Moody” illustrated the same pluck and daring
which under the vicissitudes and peculiarities of the times—had it been
Tom’s fortune to have served under Drake or Blake, Howe, Jervis, or
Nelson—would equally have supplied materials for a stave.
From the letter of the Squire the reader will see how truthfully the
great English Beranger, as he has been called, adhered to the
circumstances in his song:—
“You all knew Tom Moody, the whipper-in, well.
The bell that’s done tolling was honest Tom’s knell;
A more able sportsman ne’er followed a hound
Through a country well known to him fifty miles round.
No hound ever open’d with Tom near a wood,
But he’d challenge the tone, and could tell if it were good;
And all with attention would eagerly mark,
When he cheer’d up the pack, ‘Hark! to Rockwood, hark! hark!
Hie!—wind him! and cross him! Now, Rattler, boy! Hark!’
“Six crafty earth-stoppers, in hunter’s green drest,
Supported poor Tom to an earth made for rest.
His horse, which he styled his ‘Old Soul,’ next appear’d,
On whose forehead the brush of his last fox was rear’d:
Whip, cap, boots, and spurs, in a trophy were bound,
And here and there followed an old straggling hound.
Ah! no more at his voice yonder vales will they trace!
Nor the welkin resound his burst in the chase!
With high over! Now press him! Tally-ho! Tally-ho!
“Thus Tom spoke his friends ere he gave up his breath:
‘Since I see you’re resolved to be in at the death,
One favour bestow—’tis the last I shall crave,
Give a rattling view-halloo thrice over my grave;
And unless at that warning I lift up my head,
My boys, you may fairly conclude I am dead!’
Honest Tom was obeyed, and the shout rent the sky,
For every one joined in the tally-ho cry!
Tally-ho! Hark forward! Tally-ho! Tally-ho!”
On leaving Willey, Mr. Forester asked Dibdin what he could do to
discharge the obligation he felt himself under for his services; the
great ballad writer, whom Pitt pensioned, replied “Nothing;” he had been
so well treated that he could not accept anything. Finding artifice
necessary, Mr. Forester asked him if he would deliver a letter for him
personally at his banker’s on his arrival in London. Of course Dibdin
consented, and on doing so he found it was an order to pay him £100!
When the song first came out Charles Incledon, by the “human voice
divine,” was drawing vast audiences at Drury Lane Theatre. On
play-bills, in largest type, forming the most attractive morceaux of the
bill of fare, this song, varied by others of Dibdin’s composing, would be
seen; and when he was first announced to sing it, a few fox-hunting
friends of the Squire went to London to hear it. Taking up their
positions in the pit, they were all attention as the inimitable singer
rolled out, with that full volume of voice which at once delighted and
astounded his audience, the verse commencing:—
“You all knew Tom Moody the whipper-in well.”
But the great singer did not succeed to the satisfaction of the small
knot of Shropshire fox-hunters in the “tally-ho chorus.” Detecting the
technical defect which practical experience in the field alone could
supply, they jumped upon the stage, and gave the audience a specimen of
what Shropshire lungs could do.
The song soon became popular. It seized at once upon the sporting mind,
and upon the mind of the country generally. The London publishers took
it up, and gave it with the music, together with woodcuts and
lithographic illustrations, and it soon found a ready sale. But the
illustrations were untruthful. The church was altogether a fancy sketch,
exceedingly unlike the quaint old simple structure still standing. A
print published by Wolstenholme, in 1832, contains a very faithful
representation of the church on the northern side, with the grave, and a
large gathering of sportsmen and spectators, at the moment the “view
halloo” is supposed to have been given. It is altogether spiritedly
drawn and well coloured, and makes a pleasing subject; but the view is
taken on the wrong side of the church, the artist having evidently chosen
this, the northern side, because of the distance and middle distance, and
in order to make a taking picture. The view has this advantage, however,
it shows the Clee Hills in the distance. Tom’s grave is covered by a
simple slab, containing the following inscription,
TOM MOODY,
BURIED NOV. 19TH, 1796,
and is on the opposite side, near the old porch, and chief entrance to
the church.
In the full-page engraving, representing a meet near “Hangster’s Gate,” a
famous “fixture” in the old Squire’s time, the assembled sportsmen are
supposed to be startled by the re-appearance of Tom upon the ground of
his former exploits. It is the belief of some that when a corpse is laid
in the grave an angel gives notice of the coming of two examiners. The
dead person is then made to undergo the ordeal before two spirits of
terrible appearance. Whether this was the faith of Tom’s friends or not
we cannot say, but Tom was supposed to have been anything but satisfied
with his quarters or his company, and to have returned to visit the
Willey Woods. The picture presents a group of sportsmen and hounds
beneath the trees, and attention is directed towards the spectre, an old
decayed stump. The following lines refer to the tradition:—
“See the shade of Tom Moody, you all have known well,
To our sports now returning, not liking to dwell
In a region where pleasure’s not found in the chase,
So Tom’s just returned to view his old place.
No sooner the hounds leave the kennel to try,
Than his spirit appears to join in the cry;
Now all with attention, his signal well mark,
For see his hand’s up for the cry of Hark! Hark!
Then cheer him, and mark him, Tally-ho! Boys! Tally-ho!”