Marsh Sowthistle. _Sonchus palustris._
Dedicated to _St. Everildis_.
* * * * *
[Illustration: ~Captain Starkey.~]
_Died, July 9, 1822._
Reader! see the famous Captain
Starkey, in his own coat wrapt in;
Mark his mark’d nose, and mark his eye,
His lengthen’d chin, his forehead high,
His little stick, his humble hat,
The modest tie of his cravat;
Mark how easy sit his hose,
Mark the shoes that hold his toes;
So he look’d when Ranson sketch’d him
While alive--but Death has fetch’d him.
*
Auto-biography is agreeable in the writing, and sometimes profitable in
the publication, to persons whose names would otherwise die and be
buried with them. Of this numerous class was captain Starkey, who to his
“immortal memory” wrote and published his own “Memoirs.”[208]
The preface to a fine uncut copy of captain Starkey’s very rare
“Memoirs,” _penes me_, commences thus:--“The writers of biographical
accounts have _always_ prepared articles, which at once, when held forth
to the public, _were highly entertaining, useful, and satisfactory_.”
This particular representation, so directly opposed to general
experience, is decisively original. Its expression bespeaks an
independence of character, rendered further conspicuous by an amiable
humility. “I am afraid,” says the captain, “I shall fall infinitely
short in commanding your attention; none, on _this_ side of time, are
perfect, and it is in the nature of things impossible it should be
otherwise.” He trusts, “if truth has any force,” that “patience and
candour” will hear him out. Of captain Starkey then--it may be said,
that “he knew the truth, and knowing dared maintain it.”
The captain declares, he was born of honest and poor parents, natives of
Newcastle upon Tyne, at the Lying-in Hospital, Brownlow-street,
Long-acre, London, on the 19th of December, 1757. “My infantile years,”
he observes, “were attended with much indisposition.” The nature of his
“indisposition” does not appear; but it is reasonable to presume, that
as the “infantile years” of all of “living born,” at that time, were
passed in “much indisposition,” the captain suffered no more than fell
to him in the common lot. It was then the practice to afflict a child as
soon as it breathed the air, by forcing spoonfulls of “unctuousities”
down its throat, “oil of sweet almonds and syrup of blue violets.” A
strong cotton swathe of about six inches in width, and from ten to
twenty feet in length, was tightly rolled round the body, beginning
under the arm pits and ending at the hips, so as to stiffly encase the
entire trunk. After the child was dressed, if its constraint would allow
it to suck, it was suckled; but whether suckled or not, the effect of
the swathing was soon visible; its eyes rolled in agony, it was
pronounced convulsed, and a dose of “Dalby’s Carminative” was
administered as “the finest thing in the world for convulsions.” With
“pap” made of bread and water, and milk loaded with brown sugar, it was
fed from a “pap-boat,” an earthen vessel in the form of a butter-boat.
If “these contents” were not quickly “received in full,” the infant was
declared “not very well,” but if by crying, kicking of the legs,
stiffening of the back, and eructation from the stomach, it resisted
further overloading, then it was affirmed that it was “troubled with
wind,” and was drenched with “Daffy’s Elixir,” as “the finest thing in
the world for wind.” As soon as the “wind” had “a little broken off,
poor thing!” it was suckled again, and fed again; being so suckled and
fed, and fed and suckled, it was wonderful if it could sleep soundly,
and therefore, after it was undressed at night, it had a dose of
“Godfrey’s Cordial,” as “the finest thing in the world for composing to
rest.” If it was not “composed” out of the world before morning, it
awoke to undergo the manifold process of being again over-swathed,
over-fed, “Dalby’d, Daffy’d, and Godfrey’d” for that day; and so, day by
day, it was put in bonds, “carminativ’d, elixir’d, and cordial’d,” till
in a few weeks or months it died, or escaped, as by miracle, to be
weaned and made to walk. It was not to be put on its legs “too soon,”
and therefore, while the work of repletion was going on, it was not to
feel that it had legs, but was kept in arms, or rather kept lolling on
the arm, till ten or twelve months old. By this means its body, being
unduly distended, was too heavy to be sustained by its weak and
comparatively diminutive sized limbs; and then a “go-cart” was provided.
The go-cart was a sort of circular frame-work, running upon wheels, with
a door to open for admission of the child; wherein, being bolted, and
the upper part being only so large as to admit its body from below the
arms, the child rested by the arm pits, and kicking its legs on the
floor, set the machine rolling on its wheels. This being the customary
mode of “bringing children up” at the time of captain Starkey’s birth,
and until about the year 1790, few were without a general disorder and
weakness of the frame, called “the rickets.” These afflicted ones were
sometimes hump-backed, and usually bow-shinned, or knock-kneed, for
life, though to remedy the latter defects in some degree, the legs were
fastened by straps to jointed irons. From the whole length portrait at
the head of this article, which is copied from an etching by Mr. Thomas
Ranson, prefixed to captain Starkey’s “Memoirs,” it is reasonably to be
conjectured that the captain in his childhood had been ricketty and had
worn irons. Mr. Ranson has draped the figure in a long coat. Had this
been done to conceal the inward inclination of the captain’s knees, it
would have been creditable to Mr. Ranson’s delicacy; for there is a
sentiment connected with the meeting of the knees, in the owner’s mind,
which he who knows human nature and has human feelings, knows how to
respect; and no one either as a man or an artist is better acquainted
with the “humanities” than Mr. Ranson. But that gentleman drew the
captain from the life, and the captain’s coat is from the coat he
actually wore when he stood for his picture. There is a remarkable
dereliction of the nose from the eyebrows. It was a practice with the
race of nurses who existed when the captain’s nose came into the world,
to pinch up that feature of our infant ancestors from an hour old, till
“the month was up.” This was from a persuasion that nature, on that part
of the face, required to be assisted. A few only of these ancient
females remain, and it does not accord with the experience of one of the
most experienced among them, that they ever _depressed_ that sensible
feature; she is fully of opinion, that for the protrusion at the end of
the captain’s, he was indebted to his nurse “during the month;” and she
says that, “it’s this, that makes him look so sensible.”
According to captain Starkey’s narrative, when “learning to walk alone,”
he unfortunately fell, “and so hurt his left arm, that it turned to a
white swelling as large as a child’s head.” The captain says, “my poor
parents immediately applied to two gentlemen of the faculty, at the west
end of the town, named Bloomfield and Hawkins, physicians and surgeons
to his then reigning majesty, king George the Second, of these kingdoms,
who declared that, _they could not do any more than cut it off_; unto
which _my tender parents_ would not consent.” A French surgeon restored
to him the use of his arm, and gave him advice “not to employ it in any
arduous employment.” “I, _therefore_,” says the captain, “as my mother
kept a preparatory school, was _learned_ by her to read and spell.” At
seven years old he was “put to a master to learn to write, cipher, and
the classics.” After this, desiring to be acquainted with other
languages, he was sent to another master, and “improved,” to the
pleasure of himself and friends, but was “not so successful” as he could
wish; for which he says, “I am, as I ought to be, thankful to divine
providence.” With him he stayed, improving and not succeeding till he
was fourteen, “at which age,” says the captain, “I was bound apprentice
to Mr. William Bird, an eminent writer and teacher of languages and
mathematics, in Fetter-lane, Holborn.” After his apprenticeship the
captain, in the year 1780, went with his father, during an election, to
Newcastle-upon-Tyne, his parents’ native town. Returning to London, he,
in 1784, went electioneering again to Newcastle, having left a small
school in London to the care of a substitute, who managed to reduce
twenty-five scholars to ten, “although he was paid a weekly allowance.”
Being “filled with trouble by the loss,” he was assisted to a school in
Sunderland; “but,” the captain remarks, “as the greatest success did not
attend me in _that_, I had the happiness and honour of receiving a
better employment in the aforesaid town of Sunderland, from that ever to
be remembered gentleman, William Gooch, esq., comptroller of the
customs, who died in the year 1791, and did not die unmindful of _me_:
for he left me in his will the sum of 10_l._, with which, had I been
prudent enough, and left his employ immediately after his interment, I
might have done well; but foolishly relying on the continuance of my
place, continued doing the duties for nine months without receiving any
remuneration; and at last was obliged to leave, it not being the
pleasure of the then collector, C. Hill, esq., that I should _continue
any longer in office_.” Great as the sensation must have been at
Sunderland on this important change “_in office_,” the fact is entirely
omitted in the journals of the period, and might at this time have been
wholly forgotten if the captain had not been his own chronicler. On his
forced “retirement” he returned to Newcastle, willing to take “office”
there, but there being no opening he resolved once more to try his
fortune in London. For that purpose he crossed the Tyne-bridge, with two
shillings in his pocket, and arriving at Chester-le-street, obtained a
subscription of two guineas, by which, “with helps and hopes,” and
“walking some stages,” and getting “casts by coaches,” he arrived in the
metropolis, where he obtained a recommendation back, to the then mayor
of Newcastle. Thither he again repaired, and presented his letter to the
mayor, who promised him a place in the Freemen’s Hospital, and gave it
him on the first vacancy. “In which situation,” says captain Starkey, “I
have now been twenty-six years enjoying the invaluable blessing of
health and good friends.” So ends his “Memoir written by himself.”
To what end captain Starkey wrote his history, or how he came by his
rank, he does not say; but in the “Local Records, or Historical Register
of Remarkable Events in Durham, Northumberland, Newcastle, and Berwick,”
a volume compiled and published by Mr. JOHN SYKES, of Newcastle, there
is a notice which throws some light on the matter. “Mr. Starkey, who was
uncommonly polite, had a peculiarly smooth method of obtaining the
_loan_ of a halfpenny, for which he was always ready to give his
promissory note, which his creditors held as curiosities.” Halfpenny
debentures were tedious instruments for small “loans,” and Starkey may
have compiled his “Memoirs,” without affixing a price, for the purpose
of saying, “what you please,” and thereby raising “supplies” by sixpence
and a shilling at a time. It is to be observed to his credit, that had
he made his book more entertaining, it would have had far less claim
upon an honest reader. It is the adventureless history of a man who did
no harm in the world, and thought he had a right to live, because he was
a living being. Mr. Ranson’s portrait represents him as he was. His
stick, instead of a staff of support, appears symbolical of the
assistance he required towards existence. He holds his hat behind, as if
to intimate that his head is not entitled to be covered in “a
gentleman’s _presence_.” He seems to have been a poor powerless
creature, sensible of incompetency to do; anxious not to suffer; and
with just enough of worldly cunning, to derive to himself a little of
the superabundance enjoyed by men, who obtain for greater cunning the
name of cleverness.
QUATRAINS
TO THE EDITOR OF THE EVERY-DAY BOOK.
[_From the London Magazine._]
I like you, and your book, ingenuous Hone!
In whose capacious, all-embracing leaves
The very marrow of tradition’s shown;
And all that history--much that fiction--weaves.
By every sort of taste your work is graced.
Vast stores of modern anecdote we find,
With good old story quaintly interlaced--
The theme as various as the reader’s mind.
Rome’s lie-fraught legends you so truly paint--
Yet kindly--that the half-turn’d Catholic
Scarcely forbears to smile at his own saint,
And cannot curse the candid Heretic.
Rags, relics, witches, ghosts, fiends, crowd your page;
Our father’s mummeries we well-pleased behold;
And, proudly conscious of a purer age,
Forgive some fopperies in the times of old.
Verse-honouring Phœbus, Father of bright _Days_,
Must needs bestow on you both good and many,
Who, building trophies to his children’s praise,
Run their rich Zodiac through, not missing any.
Dan Phœbus loves your book--trust me, friend Hone--
The title only errs, he bids me say:
For while such art--wit--reading--there are shown,
He swears, ’tis not a work of _every day_.