Marriage between any Servants, unless he hath a Certificate from both
their Masters that it is with their consent, under the Penalty of
10,000 lbs. of Tobacco. And the Servants that procure themselves to be
married without their Masters’ consent, shall each of them serve their
respective Master a year longer than their time; and if any person,
being free, shall marry with a Servant without the Master’s Licence, he
or she so marrying shall pay the Master 1500 lbs. of Tobacco, or one
year’s service.’
In Maryland, the laws respecting servants were somewhat milder, but, if
they ran away, they had to serve ten days for every one day’s absence.
In this colony, however, ‘Every Man-Servant shall have given him at
the time of the expiration of his Service, one new Hat, a good Cloath
Suit, a new Shift of White Linnen, a pair of new French full Shooes
and Stockings, two Hoes, and one Axe, and one gun of 20s. price, not
above four foot Barrel, nor less than three and a half. And every
Woman-Servant shall have given her, at the expiration of her Servitude,
the like Provision of Cloaths, and three Barrels of Indian Corn.’
In New England they dealt still more tenderly and fairly by their
servants. If a servant fled from the cruelty of his or her master, he
or she was to be protected and harboured, provided that they fled to
the house of some free man of the same town, and ‘If any Man or Woman
Hurt, Maim, or Disfigure a Servant, unless it be by mere Casualty,
the Servant shall go free, and the Master or Mistress shall make
such recompense as the Court shall award. Servants that have serv’d
diligently, and faithfully, to the end of their Times, shall not be
sent away empty; and such as have been unfaithful, negligent, or
unprofitable shall not be sent away unpunished, but shall make such
satisfaction as Authority shall direct.’
In Jamaica the laws were pretty fair, and in Barbadoes there was a very
just enactment. ‘Whatever Master or Mistress shall turn off a Sick
Servant, or not use, or endeavour, all lawful means for the recovery
of such servant, during the time of Servitude, he or she shall forfeit
2,200 lbs of Sugar. To be levyed by Warrant of a Justice of Peace, and
disposed towards the maintenance of such Servant, and the said Servant
so neglected, or turned off, shall be Free.’
In the last few years of the eighteenth century, it was no uncommon
thing to meet with advertisements in the American papers, couched in
the following strain: ‘To be disposed of, the indentures of a strong,
healthy Irishwoman; who has two years to serve, and is fit for all
kinds of house work. Enquire of the Printer.’
‘STOP THE VILLAIN!
‘Ran away this morning, an Irish Servant, named Michael Day, by trade
a Tailor, about five feet eight inches high, fair complexion, has a
down look when spoken to, light bushy hair, speaks much in the Irish
dialect, &c. Whoever secures the above-described in any gaol, shall
receive thirty dollars reward, and all reasonable charges paid.
N.B.--All masters of Vessels are forbid harbouring or carrying off the
said Servant at their peril.’
* * * * *
The laws which regulated them were originally framed for the English
convicts before the Revolution, and were not repealed. They were,
of necessity, harsh and severe, so much so that, towards the end of
the eighteenth century, several societies sprang up, both Irish and
German, whose members did all in their power to mitigate the severity
of these laws, and render their countrymen, during their servitude, as
comfortable as circumstances would permit. These societies were in all
the large towns south of Connecticut.
When the yellow fever was raging in Baltimore in the year 1793, but
few vessels would venture near the city, and every one that could do
so fled from the doomed place. But a ‘White Guinea-man,’ from Germany,
arrived in the river, and, hearing that such was the fatal nature of
the infection that for no sum of money could a sufficient number of
nurses be procured to attend the sick, conceived the philanthropic
idea of supplying this deficiency from his redemption passengers, and,
sailing boldly up to the city, he advertised his cargo for sale thus:
‘A few healthy Servants, generally between seventeen and twenty-one
years of age; their times will be disposed of by applying on board the
brig.’ It was a truly generous thought to thus nobly sacrifice his own
countrywomen _pro bono publico_!
As the eighteenth century drew to a close a more humane state of things
came into existence; and in Maryland, in 1817, as before stated, a law
was passed for the relief of the German and Swiss redemptioners. It
was enacted that there should be, in every port, a person to register
the apprenticeship, or servitude, of these emigrants, and, unless
drawn up or approved by him, no agreement to service was binding.
Minors, under twenty-one, were not allowed to be sold, unless by their
parents or next-of-kin, and the indentures covenanted that at least two
months schooling must be given, annually, to them by their masters. No
emigrant was bound to serve more than four years, except males under
seventeen, and females under fourteen, who were to serve, respectively,
till twenty-one and eighteen. There were many other clauses that
related both to their better treatment on board the vessels and on
land, and, if this law had been strictly acted up to, the condition of
these poor people would have been much ameliorated.
But, happily, in course of years, as the prosperity of the United
States of America grew by ‘leaps and bounds,’ attracting labour in
abundance from all parts of Europe, there was no longer any need for
the traffic in human flesh and blood, and the redemptioner became a
thing of the past.
A TRIP TO RICHMOND IN SURREY.
The following _morceau_ gives so quaint an account of a day’s outing in
the last century that I have thought it a pity to let it remain buried.
It is by J. West, and was published in 1787:
From London to Richmond I took an excursion,
For the sake of my health and in hopes of diversion:
Thus, walking without any cumbersome load,
I mark’d ev’ry singular sight on the road.
In Hyde Park I met a hump-back’d macarony
Who was pleased I should see how he manag’d his pony.
The Cockney was dresst in true blue and in buff,
In buckskin elastic, but all in the rough;
He wore patent spurs on his boots, with light soles,
And buttons as big as some halfpenny rolls;
His hair out of curls, with a tail like a rat,
And sideways he clapt on his head a round hat;
His cravat was tied up in a monstrous large bunch,
No wonder the ladies should smile at his hunch.
The next figure I saw, ’twas a milliner’s maid,
A high cap and pink ribbons adorning her head,
Which was made to sit well, but a little fantastic,
With a hundred black pins and a cushion elastic.
She stalked like a peacock when waving her fan,
And us’d an umbrella upon a new plan;
Her elbows she lean’d on her hoop as on crutches,
And wagg’d her silk gown with the air of a duchess.
Now forward I stept to behold her sweet face;
She ogled and smil’d with a seeming good grace;
However, there was no dependence upon it,
Although her eyes sparkled from under her bonnet,
I question’d her love, so I wished her farewel;
But something more clever I’m ready to tell.
From yon spot in the Park, just where the Parade is,
Approach’d a grand sportsman, attended by ladies
On bay horses mounted; they swift tore the ground,
Escorted by servants and terriers around;
I guess’d that my Lord went to sport with his Graces
To Windsor’s wide forest or Maidenhead races.
Through Kensington passing I saw a fine show
Of chaises, gigs, coaches, there all in a row!
When I came to a well where a girl stood close by,
Who ask’d to what place do these folk go? and why?
I, smiling, replied, ‘They, my dear, go to Windsor,
To see king and queen,’--but could not convince her.
On tiptoe the titt’ring girl ran off the stand,
And broke half the pitcher she had in her hand.
In Hammersmith’s parish I stopp’d for a minute;
A stage-coach here halted--I saw who was in it,
A grave-looking man with a long nose and chin,
Two sparks and three damsels were laughing within;
The outside was crowded, good Lord! what a rabble!
Some Cits from Fleet Market, some Jews from Whitechapel,
Some sailors from Wapping, and other such crew;
But now in the basket[29] I took a short view,
Two wenches, one jolly, the other but lean,
With barrels of oysters and shrimp-sacks between.
The spirited coachman, o’ercharg’d with stout ale,
When he started, drove faster than Palmer’s[30] new mail;
He smack’d his long whip--and zounds! what a flight!
His six horses running were soon out of sight;
A lad standing by, cried (as if in a swoon),
‘By Jove! they fly up like Lunardi’s[31] balloon.’
Much pleas’d with my path when I march’d on apace,
I reach’d Turnham Green; on that sweet rural place
I stopp’d at an inn near a lane down to Chiswick,
I call’d for some ale, but it tasted like physick.
As good luck would have it, I could not drink more,
When, seeing Jack Tar and his wife at the door,
Join’d close arm-in-arm like a hook on a link,
I reach’d him my mug and invited to drink;
Jack, pleased with the draught, gave me thanks with an echo,
And cramm’d in his jaw a large quid of tobacco.
Again I set off on my way to Kew Bridge,
Some boys and some girls came from under a hedge;
They jump’d and they tumbled headforemost around,
Each vied with the other to measure the ground;
For halfpence they begg’d, and I gave ’em a penny,
When I found that I’d left myself without any
To pay toll at the bridge and to buy a few plumbs;
My silver I chang’d for a handful of Brums.[32]
But, my sight being struck with the beauty of Kew,
I forgot my expenses, when, having in view
The new Royal Bridge[33] and its elegant Arches
There o’er the bright Thames, where the people in barges
And pleasure-boats sail!--how delightful the scene!
‘Twixt the shades of Old Brentford and smiling Kew Green.
Now forward for Richmond, and happy my lot!
I soon reach’d that lofty and beautiful spot
Which is called Richmond Hill--what a prospect amazing!
Extensive and pleasant; I could not help gazing
On yonder fine landscape of Twick’nam’s sweet plains,
Where kind Nature its thousandfold beauty maintains.
To trace all its pleasures too short was the day;
The dinner-bell ringing, I hasten’d away
To a cheerful repast at a Gentleman’s seat,
Whose friendship vouchsaf’d me a happy retreat.
GEORGE ROBERT FITZGERALD,
COMMONLY CALLED ‘FIGHTING FITZGERALD.’
Should anyone wish for a graphic account of Irish life in the
later portion of the eighteenth century, he should read Sir Jonah
Barrington’s ‘Personal Sketches of Ireland,’ and he will find
afterwards that Lever’s novels afford but a faint reflection of
the manners and customs existing in the west and south of Ireland.
Ignorance, idleness, and dissipation were the characteristic of
the wealthier classes, and a meeting of the ‘gentry’ could seldom
take place without quarrelling and bloodshed. At races, fairs, and
elections, the lower class enjoyed themselves likewise, after their
kind, in breaking of heads and drunkenness. It was a singular state
of things, but it must be borne in mind, whilst reading the following
memoirs, as, otherwise, the facts therein related would scarcely be
credited.[34]
The Fitzgeralds of County Mayo come of an ancient stock, from no
less than the great Geraldine family, through the Desmond branch,
and George, the father of George Robert Fitzgerald, had a very good
property at Turlough, near Castlebar. It probably had some influence
in his future career that ‘Fighting Fitzgerald’ should have had for
his mother Lady Mary Hervey, who had been maid-of-honour to the
Princess Amelia, and who was the daughter of one, and the sister of
two, Earls of Bristol. The family from which she sprang was noted for
eccentricity, so much so, that it passed into a saying that ‘God made
Men, Women, and Herveys.’ She did not live long with her husband, his
lax morality and dissipated manners could not be borne, and she left
him to his own devices and returned to England. By him she had two
sons, George Robert (born 1749), and Charles Lionel. The elder, in due
time, was sent to Eton, where he seems to have learnt as much Latin
and Greek as was requisite for a gentleman of those days, and he used
occasionally in after life to write a little poetry now and again, of
which one piece, ‘The Riddle,’ was printed after his execution.
From Eton he, in 1766, being then in his seventeenth year, was
gazetted to a lieutenancy in the 69th regiment, and was quartered at
Galway, a nice place for a newly-emancipated schoolboy, and a red-hot,
wild Irishman to boot. Here he soon got into a scrape, owing to his
conduct with a shop-girl, which ended in a duel, in which neither
the combatants were hurt. He next managed to pick a quarrel with a
young officer of his own regiment, named Thompson, who was a quiet
and inoffensive man, and they met. The first round was fired by
both without injury, but Lieutenant Thompson’s second bullet struck
Fitzgerald’s forehead, and he fell. The surgeons, after examination,
came to the conclusion that the only way to save his life was by
performing upon him the operation of trepanning, or cutting a round
piece out of the skull in order to relieve the pressure on the brain.
It was an operation that was very risky, but in this case it was
successful. Still, one cannot help thinking, judging by his after
career, that his brain then received some permanent injury which
deprived him of the power of reasoning, and of control over his actions.
He now left the army, and went home to live with his father. Here he
lived the regular Irishman’s life of the period: hunting, shooting,
cock-fighting, &c., until he fell in love with a lady of good family, a
Miss Conolly of Castletown; but even here he could not act as other men
do. He could not be married quietly, but ran away with his bride, and
an incident in their elopement is amusingly told, it being put in the
mouth of his servant.
‘But hoo did the Captain mak’ it up again wi’ the Square? Ye omadhaun,
it was with the young misthress he med it up; and she took Frinch lave
with him, wan fine moonlight night soon afther. It was mysel’ that
had the chaise an’ four waitin’ for them; an’ a divilish good thing
happened at the first inn we stopt at. The Captain in coorse ordhered
the best dhrawin’-room for the misthress; an’ sure, if it was goold,
she was worthy ov it. But the beggarly-lookin’ waither sed it was taken
up with some grand Englishmen.
‘“Request thim,” sis the Captain, “to accommodate a lady that’s
fatigued, with the apartment.”
‘Well an’ good, the waither delivered the message, when one of the
Englishers roars out, “Damn the fellow’s cursed insolence, we shan’t
give up the room to any rascal.”
‘“Here,” sis one of thim, “show Paddy this watch, an’ ax him to tell
what o’clock it is.”
‘So the waither brings the watch with the message in to where the
Captain and mysel’ was--the misthress had gone with her maid to another
room to change her dhress.
‘“Very well,” sis the Captain, “I think I can show them what o’clock
it is.” So he dhraws his soord, and puts the point through his chain;
“Channor,” thin says he to me, “attend me.”
‘With that we went in among them, an’ the Captain sthretched over the
watch at the sword’s point to ache of them, beggin’, with a polite bow,
to know to which o’ thim it belonged. But little notions, ye may swair,
they had ov ownin’ it _theirs_. Every wan o’ the cowardly rascals swore
it did not belong to himsel’!
‘“Oh, I was thinkin’, jintlemen, it was all a bit ov a mistake,” sis
the Captain, “so I think you must have it, Channor, for want of a
betther owner.” So with that he hands it over to mysel’. It was a fine
goold watch, an’ here I have it still.’
Not only was young Mrs. Fitzgerald reconciled to her relations, but an
arrangement was made with old Fitzgerald that, on payment of a certain
sum of money down, he would give his son a rent charge of £1,000 a
year on his estate, and he had a very handsome fortune with his wife
besides.
The young couple thereupon went to France, and, having introductions
to the best society in Paris, enjoyed themselves immensely. He dressed
splendidly, and he astonished the Parisians, who asked each other,
‘Qui est ce seigneur? d’où vient il? Il n’est pas Français,--Quelle
magnificence! Quelle politesse! Est-il possible qu’il soit étranger?’
In his hat he wore diamonds, and the same precious stones adorned
his buckles and his sword-knot; indeed, all through his life he was
fond of such gewgaws, and when his house at Turlough was wrecked by
the mob--no one preventing--he estimated his loss in jewellery, &c.,
at £20,000. They must have been costly, for he enumerates among the
stolen collection: ‘A casquet containing a complete set of diamond
vest buttons, two large emeralds, a hat-band with five or six rows
of Oriental pearls, worth £1,500, a large engraved amethyst, a gold
watch and chain studded with diamonds, several other gold watches and
seals, a great number of antique and modern rings, gold shoe and knee
buckles, silver shaving apparatus, several pairs of silver shoe and
knee buckles, with £6,300 worth of other jewels.’
He joined eagerly in the dissipations of the gay French capital,
especially in gaming, and the twenty thousand pounds he had with his
wife soon came to an end; and among other people to whom he was in
debt was the Comte d’Artois, afterwards Charles X., to whom he owed
three thousand pounds. One evening afterwards he offered a bet of one
thousand pounds on the prince’s hand of cards, which the Comte d’Artois
overhearing, he asked Fitzgerald for payment, and, being told that
it was not then convenient, the prince took the Irishman by the arm,
led him to the top of the stairs, and then, giving him one kick, left
him to get downstairs as quickly as he could. This indignity was one
which it was very hard on the hot-blooded Irishman to be obliged to
endure, for he might not challenge with impunity a prince of the blood,
and from the public nature of the insult he naturally lost his place
in society. It was certain he must leave France; but before he left
he must somehow distinguish himself. And he did it in this wise. The
king was hunting at Fontainebleau, and Fitzgerald, regardless of the
etiquette which always allowed the foremost place to the king and royal
family, took the hunting of the pack upon himself, riding close to the
hounds, cheering and encouraging them. But for some time the stag kept
well in the open, and gave Fitzgerald no opportunity of showing off his
horsemanship, until it suddenly turned off towards the river Seine, on
the banks of which a wall had been built. This it leaped, and, to use a
hunting phrase, ‘took soil’ in the river. Over streamed the hounds, and
over flew Fitzgerald, reckless of a drop of fourteen feet on the other
side, going plump into the river. The hunt stopped at that wall, none
daring to take it, and watched with amazement Fitzgerald emerge, his
feet still in the stirrups, and, swimming the river, climb the opposite
bank and ride away.
He went to London, where he was well received in society,
notwithstanding that his fame as a duellist was well known, he having
fought eleven duels by the time he was twenty-four years of age.
Whether it was then that he forced his way into Brookes’ Club I know
not, but it is certain that he did, and as I cannot tell the story as
well as it is told in that most amusing but anonymously written book,
‘The Clubs of London,’ I extract it.
‘Fitzgerald having once applied to Admiral Keith Stewart to propose
him as a candidate for “Brookes’s,” the worthy admiral, well knowing
that he must either fight or comply with his request, chose the
latter alternative. Accordingly, on the night in which the balloting
was to take place (which was only a mere form in this case, for even
Keith Stewart himself had resolved to _black-ball_ him), the duellist
accompanied the gallant admiral to St. James’s Street, and waited in
the room below, whilst the suffrages were taken, in order to know the
issue.
‘The ballot was soon over, for without hesitation every member threw
in a _black ball_, and, when the scrutiny took place, the company were
not a little amazed to find not even _one_ white one among the number.
However, the point of rejection being carried _nem. con._, the grand
affair now was as to which of the members had the hardihood to announce
the same to the expectant candidate. No one would undertake the office,
for the announcement was sure to produce a challenge, and a duel
with Fighting Fitzgerald had in almost every case been fatal to his
opponent. The general opinion, however, was that the proposer, Admiral
Stewart, should convey the intelligence, and that in as polite terms as
possible; but the admiral, who was certainly on all proper occasions a
very gallant officer, was not inclined to go on any such embassy.
‘“No, gentlemen,” said he; “I proposed the fellow because I knew you
would not admit him; but, by G--d, I have no inclination to risk my
life against that of a madman.”
‘“But, admiral,” replied the Duke of Devonshire, “there being no _white
ball_ in the box, he must know that _you_ have black-balled him as well
as the rest, and he is sure to call you out, at all events.”
‘This was a poser for the poor admiral, who sat silent for a few
seconds amidst the half-suppressed titter of the members. At length,
joining in the laugh against himself, he exclaimed,
‘“Upon my soul, a pleasant job I’ve got into! D----n the fellow! No
matter! I won’t go. Let the waiter tell him that there was _one_ black
ball, and that his name must be put up again if he wishes it.”
‘This plan appeared so judicious that all concurred in its propriety.
Accordingly the waiter was a few minutes after despatched on the
mission.
‘In the meantime Mr. Fitzgerald showed evident symptoms of impatience
at being kept so long from his “dear friends” above stairs, and
frequently rang the bell to know _the state of the poll_. On the first
occasion he thus addressed the waiter who answered his summons:
‘“Come here, my tight little fellow. Do you know if I am _chose_ yet?”
‘“I really can’t say, sir,” replied the young man, “but I’ll see.”
‘“There’s a nice little man; be quick, d’ye see, and I’ll give ye
sixpence when ye come with the good news.”
‘Away went the _little man_; but he was in no hurry to come back,
for he as well as his fellows was sufficiently aware of Fitzgerald’s
violent temper, and wished to come in contact with him as seldom as
possible.
‘The bell rang again, and to another waiter the impatient candidate put
the same question:
‘“Am I chose yet, waither?”
‘“The balloting is not over yet, sir,” replied the man.
‘“Not over yet!” exclaimed Fitzgerald. “But, sure, there is no use of
balloting at all when my dear friends are all unanimous for me to come
in. Run, my man, and let me know how they are getting on.”
‘After the lapse of another quarter-of-an-hour, the bell was rung so
violently as to produce a contest among the poor servants, as to whose
turn it was to visit the lion in his den! and Mr. Brookes, seeing no
alternative but resolution, took the message from the waiter, who was
descending the staircase, and boldly entered the room with a coffee
equipage in his hand.
‘“Did you call for coffee, sir?”
‘“D--n your coffee, sur! and you too,” answered Mr. Fitzgerald, in a
voice which made the host’s blood curdle in his veins--“I want to know,
sur, and that without a moment’s delay, sur, if I am _chose_ yet.”
‘“Oh, sir!” replied Mr. Brookes, who trembled from head to foot, but
attempted to smile away the appearance of fear, “I beg your pardon,
sir; but I was just coming to announce to you, sir, with Admiral
Stewart’s compliments, sir, that unfortunately there was one black ball
in the box, sir; and, consequently, by the rules of the club, sir, no
candidate can be admitted without a new election, sir; which cannot
take place, by the standing regulations of the club, sir, until one
month from this time, sir!”
‘During this address Fitzgerald’s irascibility appeared to undergo
considerable mollification; and, at its conclusion, the terrified
landlord was not a little surprised and pleased to find his guest
shake him by the hand, which he squeezed heartily between his own two,
saying,