Dinner being cheerfully discussed, and our adventurer expressing an eager
desire to know the history of the male and female who had acted as
squires or seconds to the champions of the King’s Bench, Felton gratified
his curiosity to this effect:
“All that I know of Captain Clewline, previous to his commitment, is,
that he was a commander of a sloop of war, and bore the reputation of a
gallant officer; that he married the daughter of a rich merchant in the
city of London, against the inclination and without the knowledge of her
father, who renounced her for this act of disobedience; that the captain
consoled himself for the rigour of the parent, with the possession of the
lady, who was not only remarkably beautiful in person, but highly
accomplished in her mind, and amiable in her disposition. Such, a few
months ago, were those two persons whom you saw acting in such a vulgar
capacity. When they first entered the prison, they were undoubtedly the
handsomest couple mine eyes ever beheld, and their appearance won
universal respect even from the most brutal inhabitants of the jail.
“The captain, having unwarily involved himself as a security for a man to
whom he had lain under obligations, became liable for a considerable sum,
and his own father-in-law being the sole creditor of the bankrupt, took
this opportunity of wreaking vengeance upon him for having espoused his
daughter. He watched an opportunity until the captain had actually
stepped into the post-chaise with his lady for Portsmouth, where his ship
lay, and caused him to be arrested in the most public and shameful
manner. Mrs. Clewline had like to have sunk under the first transports
of her grief and mortification; but these subsiding, she had recourse to
personal solicitation. She went with her only child in her arms, a
lovely boy, to her father’s door, and, being denied admittance, kneeled
down in the street, imploring his compassion in the most pathetic strain;
but this hard-hearted citizen, instead of recognising his child, and
taking the poor mourner to his bosom, insulted her from the window with
the most bitter reproach, saying, among other shocking expressions,
‘Strumpet, take yourself away with your brat, otherwise I shall send for
the beadle, and have you to Bridewell.’
“The unfortunate lady was cut to the heart by this usage, and fainted in
the street, from whence she was conveyed to a public-house by the charity
of some passengers. She afterwards attempted to soften the barbarity of
her father by repeated letters, and by interesting some of his friends to
intercede with him in her behalf; but all her endeavours proving
ineffectual, she accompanied her husband to the prison of the King’s
Bench, where she must have felt, in the severest manner, the fatal
reverse of circumstance to which she was exposed.
“The captain being disabled from going to sea, was superseded, and he saw
all his hopes blasted in the midst of an active war, at a time when he
had the fairest prospects of fame and fortune. He saw himself reduced to
extreme poverty, cooped up with the tender partner of his heart in a
wretched hovel, amidst the refuse of mankind, and on the brink of wanting
the common necessaries of life. The mind of man is ever ingenious in
finding resources. He comforted his lady with vain hopes of having
friends who would effect his deliverance, and repeated assurances of this
kind so long, that he at length began to think they were not altogether
void of foundation.
“Mrs. Clewline, from a principle of duty, recollected all her fortitude,
that she might not only bear her fate with patience, but even contribute
to alleviate the woes of her husband, whom her affection had ruined. She
affected to believe the suggestions of his pretended hope; she
interchanged with him assurances of better fortune; her appearance
exhibited a calm, while her heart was torn with anguish. She assisted
him in writing letters to former friends, the last consolation of the
wretched prisoner; she delivered these letters with her own hand, and
underwent a thousand mortifying repulses, the most shocking circumstances
of which she concealed from her husband. She performed all the menial
offices in her own little family, which was maintained by pawning her
apparel; and both the husband and wife, in some measure, sweetened their
cares by prattling and toying with their charming little boy, on whom
they doated with an enthusiasm of fondness. Yet even this pleasure was
mingled with the most tender and melancholy regret. I have seen the
mother hang over him, with the most affecting expression of this kind in
her aspect, the tears contending with the smiles upon her countenance,
while she exclaimed, ‘Alas! my poor prisoner, little did your mother once
think she should be obliged to nurse you in a jail.’ The captain’s
paternal love was dashed with impatience; he would snatch up the boy in a
transport of grief, press him to his breast, devour him as it were with
kisses, throw up his eyes to heaven in the most emphatic silence, then
convey the child hastily to his mother’s arms, pull his hat over his
eyes, stalk out into the common walk, and, finding himself alone, break
out into tears and lamentation.
“Ah! little did this unhappy couple know what further griefs awaited
them! The smallpox broke out in the prison, and poor Tommy Clewline was
infected. As the eruption appeared unfavourable, you may conceive the
consternation with which they were overwhelmed. Their distress was
rendered inconceivable by indigence; for by this time they were so
destitute, that they could neither pay for common attendance, nor procure
proper advice. I did on that occasion what I thought my duty towards my
fellow-creatures. I wrote to a physician of my acquaintance, who was
humane enough to visit the poor little patient; I engaged a careful
woman-prisoner as a nurse, and Mr. Norton supplied them with money and
necessaries. These helps were barely sufficient to preserve them from
the horrors of despair, when they saw their little darling panting under
the rage of a loathsome pestilential malady, during the excessive heat of
the dog-days, and struggling for breath in the noxious atmosphere of a
confined cabin, where they scarce had room to turn on the most necessary
occasions. The eager curiosity with which the mother eyed the doctor’s
looks as often as he visited the boy; the terror and trepidation of the
father, while he desired to know his opinion; in a word, the whole tenor
of their distress baffled all description.
“At length the physician, for the sake of his own character, was obliged
to be explicit; and, returning with the captain to the common walk, told
him, in my hearing, that the child could not possibly recover. This
sentence seemed to have petrified the unfortunate parent, who stood
motionless, and seemingly bereft of sense. I led him to my apartment,
where he sat a full hour in that state of stupefaction; then he began to
groan hideously, a shower of tears burst from his eyes, he threw himself
on the floor, and uttered the most piteous lamentation that ever was
heard. Meanwhile, Mrs. Norton being made acquainted with the doctor’s
prognostic, visited Mrs. Clewline, and invited her to the lodge. Her
prophetic fears immediately took the alarm. ‘What!’ cried she, starting
up with a frantic wildness in her looks, ‘then our case is desperate--I
shall lose my dear Tommy!--the poor prisoner will be released by the hand
of Heaven!--Death will convey him to the cold grave!’ The dying innocent
hearing this exclamation, pronounced these words, ‘Tommy won’t leave you,
my dear mamma; if death comes to take Tommy, papa shall drive him away
with his sword.’ This address deprived the wretched mother of all
resignation to the will of Providence. She tore her hair, dashed herself
on the pavement, shrieked aloud, and was carried off in a deplorable
state of distraction.
“That same evening the lovely babe expired, and the father grew frantic.
He made an attempt on his own life; and, being with difficulty
restrained, his agitation sunk into a kind of sullen insensibility, which
seemed to absorb all sentiment, and gradually vulgarised his faculty of
thinking. In order to dissipate the violence of his sorrow, he
continually shifted the scene from one company to another, contracted
abundance of low connexions, and drowned his cares in repeated
intoxication. The unhappy lady underwent a long series of hysterical
fits and other complaints, which seemed to have a fatal effect on her
brain as well as constitution. Cordials were administered to keep up her
spirits; and she found it necessary to protract the use of them to blunt
the edge of grief, by overwhelming reflection, and remove the sense of
uneasiness arising from a disorder in her stomach. In a word, she became
an habitual dram-drinker; and this practice exposed her to such
communication as debauched her reason, and perverted her sense of decorum
and propriety. She and her husband gave a loose to vulgar excess, in
which they were enabled to indulge by the charity and interest of some
friends, who obtained half-pay for the captain.
“They are now metamorphosed into the shocking creatures you have seen; he
into a riotous plebeian, and she into a ragged trull. They are both
drunk every day, quarrel and fight one with another, and often insult
their fellow-prisoners. Yet they are not wholly abandoned by virtue and
humanity. The captain is scrupulously honest in all his dealings, and
pays off his debts punctually every quarter, as soon as he receives his
half-pay. Every prisoner in distress is welcome to share his money while
it lasts; and his wife never fails, while it is in her power, to relieve
the wretched; so that their generosity, even in this miserable disguise,
is universally respected by their neighbours. Sometimes the recollection
of their former rank comes over them like a qualm, which they dispel with
brandy, and then humorously rally one another on their mutual degeneracy.
She often stops me in the walk, and, pointing to the captain, says, ‘My
husband, though he is become a blackguard jail-bird, must be allowed to
be a handsome fellow still.’--On the other hand, he will frequently
desire me to take notice of his rib, as she chances to pass.--‘Mind that
draggle-tailed drunken drab,’ he will say; ‘what an antidote it is--yet,
for all that, Felton, she was a fine woman when I married her--Poor Bess,
I have been the ruin of her, that is certain, and deserve to be d--ned
for bringing her to this pass.’
“Thus they accommodate themselves to each other’s infirmities, and pass
their time not without some taste of plebeian enjoyment--but, name their
child, they never fail to burst into tears, and still feel a return of
the most poignant sorrow.”
Sir Launcelot Greaves did not hear this story unmoved. Tom Clarke’s
cheeks were bedewed with the drops of sympathy, while, with much sobbing,
he declared his opinion, that an action should lie against the lady’s
father.
Captain Crowe having listened to the story with uncommon attention,
expressed his concern that an honest seaman should be so taken in stays;
but he imputed all his calamities to the wife. “For why?” said he; “a
seafaring man may have a sweetheart in every port; but he should steer
clear of a wife, as he would avoid a quicksand.--You see, brother, how
this here Clewline lags astern in the wake of a snivelling b---h;
otherwise he would never make a weft in his ensign for the loss of a
child--odds heart! he could have done no more if he had sprung a
top-mast, or started a timber.”
The knight declaring that he would take another view of the prison in the
afternoon, Mr. Felton insisted upon his doing him the honour to drink a
dish of tea in his apartment, and Sir Launcelot accepted his invitation.
Thither they, accordingly repaired, after having made another circuit of
the jail, and the tea-things were produced by Mrs. Felton, when she was
summoned to the door, and in a few minutes returning, communicated
something in a whisper to her husband. He changed colour, and repaired
to the staircase, where he was heard to talk aloud in an angry tone.
When he came back, he told the company he had been teased by a very
importunate beggar. Addressing himself to our adventurer, “You took
notice,” says he, “of a fine lady flaunting about our walk in all the
frippery of the fashion. She was lately a gay young widow that made a
great figure at the court-end of the town; she distinguished herself by
her splendid equipage, her rich liveries, her brilliant assemblies, her
numerous routs, and her elegant taste in dress and furniture. She is
nearly related to some of the best families in England, and, it must be
owned, mistress of many fine accomplishments. But being deficient in
true delicacy, she endeavoured to hide that defect by affectation. She
pretended to a thousand antipathies which did not belong to her nature.
A breast of veal threw her into mortal agonies; if she saw a spider, she
screamed; and at sight of a mouse she fainted away. She could not,
without horror, behold an entire joint of meat; and nothing but
fricassees and other made dishes were seen upon her table. She caused
all her floors to be lined with green baize, that she might trip along
there with more ease and pleasure. Her footmen wore clogs, which were
deposited in the hall, and both they and her chairmen were laid under the
strongest injunctions to avoid porter and tobacco. Her jointure amounted
to eight hundred pounds per annum, and she made shift to spend four times
that sum. At length it was mortgaged for nearly the entire value; but,
far from retrenching, she seemed to increase in extravagance, until her
effects were taken in execution, and her person here deposited in safe
custody.
“When one considers the abrupt transition she underwent from her spacious
apartments to an hovel scarce eight feet square; from sumptuous furniture
to bare benches; from magnificence to meanness; from affluence to extreme
poverty; one would imagine she must have been totally overwhelmed by such
a sudden gush of misery. But this was not the case. She has, in fact,
no delicate feelings. She forthwith accommodated herself to the exigency
of her fortune; yet she still affects to keep state amidst the miseries
of a jail; and this affectation is truly ridiculous. She lies a-bed till
two o’clock in the afternoon. She maintains a female attendant for the
sole purpose of dressing her person. Her cabin is the least cleanly in
the whole prison; she has learned to eat bread and cheese and drink
porter; but she always appears once a day dressed in the pink of the
fashion. She has found means to run in debt at the chandler’s shop, the
baker’s, and the tap-house, though there is nothing got in this place but
with ready money. She has even borrowed small sums from divers
prisoners, who were themselves on the brink of starving. She takes
pleasure in being surrounded with duns, observing, that by such people a
person of fashion is to be distinguished. She writes circular letters to
her former friends and acquaintance, and by this method has raised pretty
considerable contributions; for she writes in a most elegant and
irresistible style. About a fortnight ago she received a supply of
twenty guineas; when, instead of paying her little jail-debts, or
withdrawing any part of her apparel from pawn, she laid out the whole sum
in a fashionable suit and laces; and next day borrowed of me a shilling
to purchase a neck of mutton for her dinner. She seems to think her rank
in life entitles her to this kind of assistance. She talks very
pompously of her family and connexions, by whom however she has been long
renounced. She has no sympathy nor compassion for the distresses of her
fellow-creatures; but she is perfectly well bred; she bears a repulse the
best of any woman I ever knew; and her temper has never been once ruffled
since her arrival at the King’s Bench. She now entreated me to lend her
half-a-guinea, for which she said she had the most pressing occasion, and
promised upon her honour it should be repaid to-morrow; but I lent a deaf
ear to her request, and told her in plain terms that her honour was
already bankrupt.”
Sir Launcelot, thrusting his hand mechanically into his pocket, pulled
out a couple of guineas, and desired Felton to accommodate her with that
trifle in his own name; but he declined the proposal, and refused to
touch the money. “God forbid,” said he, “that I should attempt to thwart
your charitable intention; but this, my good sir, is no object--she has
many resources. Neither should we number the clamorous beggar among
those who really feel distress; he is generally gorged with bounty
misapplied. The liberal hand of charity should be extended to modest
want that pines in silence, encountering cold, nakedness, and hunger, and
every species of distress. Here you may find the wretch of keen
sensations blasted by accident in the blossom of his fortune, shivering
in the solitary recess of indigence, disdaining to beg, and even ashamed
to let his misery be known. Here you may see the parent who has known
happier times, surrounded by his tender offspring, naked and forlorn,
demanding food, which his circumstances cannot afford.
“That man of decent appearance and melancholy aspect, who lifted his hat
as you passed him in the yard, is a person of unblemished character. He
was a reputable tradesman in the city, and failed through inevitable
losses. A commission of bankruptcy was taken out against him by his sole
creditor, a quaker, who refused to sign his certificate. He has lived
three years in prison, with a wife and five small children. In a little
time after his commitment, he had friends who offered to pay ten
shillings in the pound of what he owed, and to give security for paying
the remainder in three years by instalments. The honest quaker did not
charge the bankrupt with any dishonest practices, but he rejected the
proposal with the most mortifying indifference, declaring that he did not
want his money. The mother repaired to his house, and kneeling before
him with her five lovely children, implored mercy with tears and
exclamations. He stood this scene unmoved, and even seemed to enjoy the
prospect, wearing the looks of complacency, while his heart was steeled
with rancour. ‘Woman,’ said he, ‘these be hopeful babes, if they were
duly nurtured. Go thy ways in peace; I have taken my resolution.’ Her
friends maintained the family for some time; but it is not in human
charity to persevere; some of them died, some of them grew unfortunate,
some of them fell off, and now the poor man is reduced to the extremity
of indigence, from whence he has no prospect of being retrieved. The
fourth part of what you would have bestowed upon the lady would make this
poor man and his family sing with joy.”
He had scarce pronounced these words, when our hero desired the man might
be called, and in a few minutes he entered the apartment with a low
obeisance. “Mr. Coleby,” said the knight, “I have heard how cruelly you
have been used by your creditor, and beg you will accept this trifling
present, if it can be of any service to you in your distress.” So
saying, he put five guineas into his hand. The poor man was so
confounded at such an unlooked-for acquisition, that he stood motionless
and silent, unable to thank the donor; and Mr. Felton conveyed him to the
door, observing that his heart was too full for utterance. But in a
little time his wife bursting into the room with her five children,
looked around, and going up to Sir Launcelot without any direction,
exclaimed, “This is the angel sent by Providence to succour me and my
poor innocents.” Then falling at his feet, she pressed his hand and
bathed it with her tears. He raised her up with that complacency which
was natural to his disposition. He kissed all her children, who were
remarkably handsome and neatly kept, though in homely apparel; and,
giving her his direction, assured her she might always apply to him in
her distress.
After her departure, he produced a bank-note of twenty pounds, and would
have deposited it in the hands of Mr. Felton, to be distributed in
charities among the objects of the place; but he desired it might be left
with Mr. Norton, who was the proper person for managing his benevolence,
and he promised to assist the deputy with his advice in laying it out.