REDEMPTIONERS.

‘“Come, pleasing Rest, eternal Slumber fall;Seal mine, that once must seal the eyes of all;Calm and compos’d my soul her journey takes,No guilt that troubles, and no heart that aches.Adieu! thou sun, all bright like her arise;Adieu! fair friends, and all that’s good and wise.”’

Aram never made any regular confession of his guilt—but in a letter he wrote to the vicar of Knaresborough, in which he gives his autobiography, he says, ‘Something is expected as to the affair upon which I was committed, to which I say, as I mentioned in my examination, that all the plate of Knaresborough, except the watches and rings, were in Houseman’s possession; as for me, I had nothing at all. My wife knows that Terry had the large plate, and that Houseman himself took both that and the watches, at my house, from Clark’s own hands; and, if she will not give this in evidence for the town, she wrongs both that and her own conscience; and, if it is not done soon, Houseman will prevent her. She likewise knows that Terry’s wife had some velvet, and, if she will, can testify it. She deserves not the regard of the town, if she will not. That part of Houseman’s evidence, whereinhe said I threatened him, was absolutely false; for what hindered him, when I was so long absent and far distant? I must need observe another thing to be perjury in Houseman’s evidence, in which he said he went home from Clark; whereas he went straight to my house, as my wife can also testify, if I be not believed.’

The contemporary accounts of his trial, whether published in York or London, have the following:

‘Aram’s sentence was a just one, and he submitted to it with that stoicism he so much affected; and the morning after he was condemned, he confessed the justness of it to two clergymen (who had a licence from the judge to attend him), by declaring that he murdered Clark. Being asked by one of them what his motive was for doing that abominable action, he told them, ‘he suspected Clark of having an unlawful commerce with his wife; that he was persuaded at the time, when he committed the murder, he did right, but, since, he had thought it wrong.’

‘After this, pray,’ said Aram, ‘what became of Clark’s body, if Houseman went home (as he said upon my trial) immediately on seeing him fall?’

One of the clergymen replied, ‘I’ll tell you what became of it. You and Houseman dragged it into the cave, stripped and buried it there; brought away his clothes, and burnt them at your own house.’

To which he assented. He was asked whether Houseman did not earnestly press him to murder his wife, for fear she should discover the business they had been about. He hastily replied,

‘He did, and pressed me several times to do it.’

Aram’s wife lived some years after his execution; indeed, she did not die until 1774. She lived in asmall house near Low Bridge, within sight of her husband’s gibbet; and here she sold pies, sausages, &c. It is said that she used to search under the gibbet for any of her husband’s bones that might have fallen, and then bury them.

Aram, by his wife, had six children, who survived their childhood—three sons and three daughters. All these children, save one, Sally, took after their mother; but Sally resembled her father, both physically and mentally. She was well read in the classics, and Aram would sometimes put his scholars to the blush, by having Sally in their class. Her father was very fond of her, and she was living with him at Lynn when he was arrested, and she clung to him when in prison at York. On his death, she went to London, and, after a time, she married, and, with her husband, kept a public-house on the Surrey side of Westminster Bridge.

Houseman went back to Knaresborough, where he abode until his death. He was naturally mobbed, and never dared stir out in the day time, but sometimes slunk out at night. Despised and detested by all, his life must have been a burden to him, and his punishment in this world far heavier than Aram was called upon to bear.

Slavery, properly so called, appears to have been from the earliest ages, and in almost every country, the condition of a large portion of the human race; the weakest had ever to serve the strong—whether the slave was a captive in battle, or an impecunious debtor unable to satisfy the claims of his creditor, save with his body. Climate made no difference. Slavery existed in Europe, Asia, and Africa, and in our own ‘right little, tight little island,’ our early annals show that a large proportion of the Anglo-Saxon population was in a state of slavery. These unfortunate bondsmen, who were called theows, thrœls, and esnes,26were bought and sold with land, and were classed in the inventory of their lord’s wealth, with his sheep, swine, and oxen, and were bequeathed by will, precisely as we now dispose of our money, or furniture.

The condition of the Anglo-Saxon slaves was very degraded indeed; their master might put them in bonds, might whip them, nay, might even brand them, like cattle, with his own distinguishing mark, astate of things which existed until Alfred the Great enacted some laws, whereby the time of the servitude of these unhappy people was limited to six years, and the institution of slavery received such a blow, that it speedily became a thing of the past. They were no longer slaves, but redemptioners,i.e., they had the hope of redemption from servitude, and the law gave them the power to enforce their freedom.

We have only to turn to the pages of holy writ to find slavery flourishing in rank luxuriance in the time of the patriarchs, and before the birth of Moses. Euphemistically described in Scripture history as servants, they were mostly unconditional and perpetual slaves. They were strangers, either taken prisoners in war or purchased from the neighbouring nations; but the Jews also had a class of servants who only were in compulsory bondage for a limited time, and they were men of their own nation.

These were men who, by reason of their poverty, were obliged to give their bodies in exchange for the wherewithal to support them, or they were insolvent debtors, and thus sought to liquidate their indebtedness, or men who had committed a theft, and had not the means of making the double, or fourfold, restitution that the law required. Their thraldom was not perpetual, they might be redeemed, and, if not redeemed, they became free on the completion of their seventh year of servitude.

Exodus, chap. 21, vv. 2-6. ‘If thou buy an Hebrew servant, six years shall he serve: and in the seventh he shall go out free for nothing. If he came in by himself, he shall go out by himself; if he were married, then his wife shall go out with him. If his master have given him a wife, and she have bornehim sons or daughters, the wife and her children shall be her master’s, and he shall go out by himself. And if the servant shall plainly say, I love my master, my wife, and my children: I will not go out free: then his master shall bring him unto the judges; he shall also bring him to the door, or unto the door-post; and his master shall bore his ear through with an awl, and he shall serve for ever.’

Here, then, we have a redemptioner, one whose servitude was not a hopeless one, and we find this limited bondage again referred to in Leviticus, chap. 25, vv. 39, 40, 41.

‘And if thy brother that dwelleth by thee be waxen poor, and be sold unto thee, thou shalt not compel him to serve as a bond servant: but as an hired servant, and as a sojourner, he shall be with thee, and shall serve thee unto the year of jubilee. And then shall he depart from thee, both he and his children with him, and shall return unto his own family, and unto the possession of his fathers shall he return.’

Here in England we are accustomed to look upon the slave from one point of view only, as an unhappy being of a different race and colour to ourselves, few of us knowing that there has been a time (and that not so very long ago) when members of our own nation, so utterly forlorn and miserable from the rude buffetings Fortune had given them in their way through the world, have been glad to sell their bodies for a time, to enable them to commence afresh the struggle for existence, in another land, and, perchance, under more favourable circumstances.

In ‘his Majesty’s plantations’ of Virginia, Maryland, and New England, and in the West Indies, these unfortunates were first called servants, and assuch are officially described; but in America in later times they received the appellation of redemptioners, a name by which they were certainly called in the middle of this century, for in Dorsey’s ‘Laws of Maryland,’ published in 1840, we find an Act27(cap. 226) was passed in 1817 to alleviate the condition of these poor people. The preamble sets forth, ‘Whereas it has been found that German and Swiss emigrants, who for the discharge of the debt contracted for their passage to this country are often obliged to subject themselves to temporary servitude, are frequently exposed to cruel and oppressive impositions by the masters of the vessels in which they arrive, and likewise by those to whom they become servants,’ &c.

It is impossible to fix any date when this iniquitous traffic first began. It arose, probably, from the want of labourers in the plantations of our colonies in their early days, and the employment of unscrupulous agents on this side to supply their needs in this respect. A man in pecuniary difficulties in the seventeenth and eighteen centuries was indeed in woeful plight: a gaol was his certain destination, and there he might rot his life away, cut off from all hope of release, unless death came mercifully to his relief. All knew of the horrors of a debtor’s prison, and, to escape them, an able-bodied man had recourse to the dreadful expedient of selling himself into bondage, for a term of years, in one of the plantations, either in America or the West Indies, or he would believe the specious tales of the ‘kidnappers,’ as they were called, who would promise anything, a free passage, and a glorious life of ease and prosperity in a new land.

Thoroughly broken down, wretched, and miserable, his thoughts would naturally turn towards a new country, wherein he might rehabilitate himself, and, in an evil hour, he would apply to some (as we should term it) emigration agent, who would even kindly advance him a trifle for an outfit. The voyage out would be an unhappy experience, as the emigrants would be huddled together, with scant food, and, on his arrival at his destination, he would early discover the further miseries in store for him; for, immediately on landing, or even before he left the ship, his body would be seized as security for passage money, which had, in all probability, been promised him free, and for money lent for his outfit; and, having no means of paying either, utterly friendless, and in a strange country, he would be sold to slavery for a term of years to some planter who would pay the debt for him.

Having obtained his flesh and blood at such a cheap rate, his owner would not part with him lightly, and it was an easy thing to arrange matters so that he was always kept in debt for clothes and tobacco, &c., in order that he never should free himself. It was a far cry to England, and with no one to help him, or to draw public attention to his case, the poor wretch had to linger until death mercifully released him from his bondage; his condition being truly deplorable, as he would be under the same regulations as the convicts, and one may be very sure thattheirlot was not enviable in those harsh and merciless times. It was not for many years, until the beginning of this century, that the American laws took a beneficial turn in favour of these unhappy people; and it was then too late, for theinstitution of redemptioners died a speedy death, owing to the influx of free emigration.

One of the earliest notices of these unfortunates is in a collection of Old Black letter ballads, in the British Museum, where there is one entitled, ‘The Trappan’d Maiden, or the Distressed Damsel,’ (c. 22, e. 2)/186 in which are depicted some of the sorrows which were undergone by these unwilling emigrants, at that time. The date, as nearly as can be assigned to it, is about 1670.

The Girl was cunningly trapan’d,Sent to Virginny from England;Where she doth Hardship undergo,There is no cure, it must be so;But if she lives to cross the main,She vows she’ll ne’er go there again.Give ear unto a MaidThat lately was betray’d,And sent into Virginny, O:In brief I shall declare,What I have suffered there,When that I was weary, O.When that first I cameTo this Land of Fame,Which is called Virginny, O:The Axe and the HoeHave wrought my overthrow,When that I was weary, O.Five years served IUnder Master Guy,In the land of Virginny, O:Which made me for to knowSorrow, Grief, and Woe,When that I was weary, O.When my Dame says, Go,Then must I do so,In the land of Virginny, O:When she sits at meatThen I have none to eat,When that I was weary, O.The cloathes that I brought in,They are worn very thin,In the land of Virginny, O:Which makes me for to sayAlas! and well-a-day,When that I was weary, O.Instead of Beds of Ease,To lye down when I please,In the land of Virginny, O:Upon a bed of straw,I lay down full of woe,When that I was weary, O.Then the Spider, sheDaily waits on me,In the land of Virginny, O:Round about my bedShe spins her tender web,When that I was weary, O.So soon as it is day,To work I must away,In the land of Virginny, O:Then my Dame she knocksWith her tinder-box,When that I was weary, O.I have played my partBoth at Plow and Cart,In the land of Virginny, O;Billats from the Wood,Upon my back they load,When that I was weary, O.Instead of drinking Beer,I drink the waters clear,In the land of Virginny, O;Which makes me pale and wan,Do all that e’er I can,When that I was weary, O.If my Dame says, Go,I dare not say no,In the land of Virginny, O;The water from the springUpon my head I bring,When that I was weary, O.When the Mill doth stand,I’m ready at command,In the land of Virginny, O;The Morter for to make,Which made my heart to ake,When that I was weary, O.When the child doth cry,I must sing, By-a-by,In the land of Virginny, O;No rest that I can haveWhilst I am here a slave,When that I was weary, O.A thousand Woes beside,That I do here abide,In the land of Virginny, O;In misery I spendMy time that hath no end,When that I was weary, O.Then let Maids beware,All by my ill-fare,In the land of Virginny, O:Be sure thou stay at home,For if you do here come,You will all be weary, O.But if it be my chance,Homeward to advance,From the land of Virginny, O:If that I once moreLand on English shore,I’ll no more be weary, O.

Give ear unto a MaidThat lately was betray’d,And sent into Virginny, O:In brief I shall declare,What I have suffered there,When that I was weary, O.

When that first I cameTo this Land of Fame,Which is called Virginny, O:The Axe and the HoeHave wrought my overthrow,When that I was weary, O.

Five years served IUnder Master Guy,In the land of Virginny, O:Which made me for to knowSorrow, Grief, and Woe,When that I was weary, O.

When my Dame says, Go,Then must I do so,In the land of Virginny, O:When she sits at meatThen I have none to eat,When that I was weary, O.

The cloathes that I brought in,They are worn very thin,In the land of Virginny, O:Which makes me for to sayAlas! and well-a-day,When that I was weary, O.

Instead of Beds of Ease,To lye down when I please,In the land of Virginny, O:Upon a bed of straw,I lay down full of woe,When that I was weary, O.

Then the Spider, sheDaily waits on me,In the land of Virginny, O:Round about my bedShe spins her tender web,When that I was weary, O.

So soon as it is day,To work I must away,In the land of Virginny, O:Then my Dame she knocksWith her tinder-box,When that I was weary, O.

I have played my partBoth at Plow and Cart,In the land of Virginny, O;Billats from the Wood,Upon my back they load,When that I was weary, O.

Instead of drinking Beer,I drink the waters clear,In the land of Virginny, O;Which makes me pale and wan,Do all that e’er I can,When that I was weary, O.

If my Dame says, Go,I dare not say no,In the land of Virginny, O;The water from the springUpon my head I bring,When that I was weary, O.

When the Mill doth stand,I’m ready at command,In the land of Virginny, O;The Morter for to make,Which made my heart to ake,When that I was weary, O.

When the child doth cry,I must sing, By-a-by,In the land of Virginny, O;No rest that I can haveWhilst I am here a slave,When that I was weary, O.

A thousand Woes beside,That I do here abide,In the land of Virginny, O;In misery I spendMy time that hath no end,When that I was weary, O.

Then let Maids beware,All by my ill-fare,In the land of Virginny, O:Be sure thou stay at home,For if you do here come,You will all be weary, O.

But if it be my chance,Homeward to advance,From the land of Virginny, O:If that I once moreLand on English shore,I’ll no more be weary, O.

Some of these complaints would seem to us to be rather of the ‘crumpled rose-leaf’ order, but probably there was enough humanity left in their owners to treat their female ‘servants’ more tenderly than the male, whose sorrows were genuine enough.

Ned Ward, in his ‘London Spy,’ 1703, gives a most graphic account of the sort of men who enticed these human chattels to the plantations. He was pursuing his perambulations about the City, exercising those sharp eyes of his, which saw everything, and was in the neighbourhood of the Custom-house, when he turned down a place called Pig Hill (so called, he says, from its resembling the steep descent down which the Devil drove his Hogs to a Bad Market).

‘As we walked up the Hill, as Lazily as an Artillery Captain before his Company upon a Lord Mayor’s Day, or a Paul’s Labourer up a Ladder, with a Hod of Mortar, we peeped in at a Gateway, where we saw two or three Blades, well drest, but with Hawkes’ Countenances, attended with half-a-dozen Ragamuffingly Fellows, showing Poverty in their Rags and Despair in their Faces, mixt with a parcel of young, wild striplings, like runaway ‘Prentices. I could not forbear enquiring of my Friend about the ill-favoured multitude, patched up of such awkward Figures, that it would have puzzled a Moor-FieldsArtist,28well-read in physiognomy, to have discovered their Dispositions by their Looks.

‘“That House,” says my Friend, “which they there are entering is an Office where Servants for the Plantations bind themselves to be miserable as long as they live, without a special Providence prevents it. Those fine Fellows, who look like Footmen upon a Holy day, crept into cast suits of their Masters, that want Gentility in their Deportments answerable to their Apparel, are Kidnappers, who walk the ‘Change and other parts of the Town, in order to seduce People who want services and young Fools crost in Love, and under an uneasiness of mind, to go beyond the seas, getting so much a head of Masters of Ships and Merchants who go over, for every Wretch they trepan into this Misery. These young Rakes and Tatterdemallions you see so lovingly hearded are drawn by their fair promises to sell themselves into Slavery, and the Kidnappers are the Rogues that run away with the Money.”’

And again, when he goes on ‘Change, he further attacks these villains.

‘“Now,” says my Friend, “we are got amongst the Plantation Traders. This may be call’d Kidnapper’s Walk; for a great many of these Jamaicans and Barbadians, with their Kitchen-stuff Countenances, are looking as sharp for servants as a Gang of Pick-pockets for Booty.... Within that Entry is an Office of Intelligence, pretending to help Servants to Places, and Masters to Servants. They have a knack of Bubbling silly wenches out of their Money; who loiter hereabouts upon the expectancy,till they are pick’d up by the Plantation Kidnappers, and spirited away into a state of misery.”’

And yet once more Ward, in his ‘Trip to America,’ says,

‘We had on board an Irishman going over as Servant, who, I suppose, was Kidnapped. I asked him whose Servant he was, “By my Fait,” said he, “I cannot tell. I was upon ’Change, looking for a good Master, and a brave Gentleman came to me, and asked me who I was, and I told him I was myn own self; and he gave me some good Wine and good Ale, and brought me on Board, and I have not seen him since.”’

Then, as since, the emigration from Great Britain was mostly fed by the poorer classes of Ireland; and, in the latter part of William III.‘s reign, such was the numbers that were sent over to the plantations as ‘servants,’ or in other words, slaves, that it was found necessary to enact special laws, in Maryland, to check the excessive importation, it being considered a source of danger to the State, as tending to introduce Popery. Accordingly, several acts were passed, placing a duty of twenty shillings per head on each Irish person landed; which, proving insufficient for the purpose, was further increased to forty shillings a few years afterwards.

In 1743, there was acause célèbre, in which James Annesley, Esq., appeared as the plaintiff, and claimed the earldom of Anglesey from his uncle Richard, who, he maintained (and he got a verdict in his favour), had caused him to be kidnapped when a lad of thirteen years of age, and sent to America, there to be sold as a slave. That this was absolutely the fact, no one who has read the evidence canpossibly doubt, and the hardships endured by the ‘servants’ at that time are plaintively alluded to in a little book, called, ‘The Adventure of an Unfortunate Young Nobleman,’ published 1743. ‘Here the Captain repeating his former Assurances, he was sold to a rich Planter in Newcastle County called Drummond, who immediately took him home, and entered him in the Number of his Slaves.

‘A new World now opened to him, and, being set to the felling of Timber, a Work no way proportioned to his Strength, he did it so awkwardly, that he was severely corrected. Drummond was a hard, inexorable Master, who, like too many of the Planters, consider their Slaves, or Servants, as a different Species, and use them accordingly. Our American Planters are not famous for Humanity, being often Persons of no Education, and, having been formerly Slaves themselves, they revenge the ill-usage they received on those who fall into their Hands. The Condition of European Servants in that Climate is very wretched; their Work is hard, and for the most part abroad, exposed to an unwholesome Air, their Diet coarse, being either Poul or bread made of Indian Corn, or Homine or Mush, which is Meal made of the same kind, moistened with the Fat of Bacon, and their Drink Water sweetened with a little Ginger and Molasses.’

Although, as before stated, Mr. Annesley won his case with regard to his legitimacy and property, for some reason or other he never contested the title with his usurping uncle, who continued to be recognized as Earl of Anglesey until his death.

Defoe, writing in 1738 in his ‘History of Colonel Jack,’ makes his hero to be kidnapped by the masterof a vessel at Leith, and carried to Virginia, where he was consigned to a merchant, and disposed of as he saw fit—in fact, treated with the samenonchalanceus an ordinary bale of goods would be. He was sold to a planter for five years, and had three hard things to endure, viz., hard work, hard fare, and hard lodging. He describes the arrival of a ship from London with several ‘servants,’ and amongst the rest were seventeen transported felons, some burnt in the hand, and some not, eight of whom his master purchased for the time specified in the warrant for their transportation, so that the unfortunate men were in no better position than, and were under the same severe laws as, the convict. Their ranks were recruited by many gentlemen concerned in the Rebellion, and taken prisoners at Preston, who were spared from execution and sold into slavery at the plantations, a condition which must often have made them dissatisfied with the clemency extended to them. In many cases, with kind masters, their lot was not so hard, and when their time of bondage was expired they had encouragement given them to plant for themselves, a certain number of acres being allotted to them by the State; and, if they could get the necessary credit for clothes, tools, &c., they were in time enabled to put by money, and, in some rare instances, became men of renown in the colony.

The usage these poor people endured on their passage to the plantations was frequently abominable, and a writer in 1796 describes the arrival, at Baltimore, of a vessel containing three hundred Irish ‘passengers’ who had been nearly starved by the captain, the ship’s water being sold by him at so much a pint, and this treatment, combined with othercruelties too shocking to relate, caused a contagious disorder to break out on board, which carried off great numbers, whilst most of these unhappy folk who were spared at that time, subsequently died whilst performing quarantine in the Delaware.

The redemptioners mainly sailed from the northern ports of Ireland, Belfast or Londonderry, though this country by no means enjoyed the unenviable monopoly of this traffic: Holland and Germany sending their wretched quota of white slaves. The particular class of vessels employed in this iniquitous trade were known by the name of ‘White Guineamen,’ and belonged to the ‘free and enlightened’ citizens of the sea-ports in America, who had their kidnappers stationed at certain parts of Scotland, Ireland, Wales, and also in Holland, to provide them with human cargoes. Seduced by the glowing descriptions of a trans-Atlantic paradise, with bright and alluring visions of American happiness and liberty, the miserable, the idle, and the unwary among the lower classes of Europe were entrapped into the voyage, the offer of gratuitous conveyance being an additional bait, which was eagerly accepted; but we have seen how, on their arrival at the promised land, they were speedily disillusioned. The difficulty of hiring tolerable servants was so great, that many persons were obliged to deal with their fellow-creatures in this way, who would otherwise have utterly abhorred the thought of being slave-dealers.

Some of the laws for their regulation in the colonies are curious. For instance, in Virginia, after they had served their time, they were obliged to have a certificate from their master to say that they haddone so, and if any person should entertain any hired servant running away without such a certificate, he had to pay the master of such servant thirty pounds weight of tobacco for every day and night he should so harbour him.

Pursuit after runaway servants was made at the public expense, and, if caught, they had to serve for the time of their absence, and the charge disbursed. In case the master refused to pay the charge, the servant was sold, or hired out, until by their services they had reimbursed the amount expended in capturing them, after which they were returned to their master to serve out their time. Whoever apprehended them was to have as reward two hundred pounds weight of tobacco, if the capture took place about ten miles from the master’s house, or one hundred pounds weight if above five miles, and under ten. This reward was to be paid by the public, and the servant had to serve some one four months for every two hundred pounds weight of tobacco paid for him.

‘Every Master that hath a Servant that hath run away twice, shall keep his Hair close cut, and not so doing, shall be fined one hundred pounds weight of Tobacco for every time the said Fugitive shall, after the second time, be taken up.’

If they ran away in company with any negro, then they had to serve the master of that negro as long as the negro was at large. If any servant laid violent hands on his master, mistress, or overseer, and was convicted of the same in any court, he had to serve one year longer at the expiration of his term.

‘A Woman-servant got with Child by her Master, shall, after her time of indenture or custom is expired, be, by the Church-wardens of the Parish where shelived, sold for two Years, and the Tobacco employed for the use of the Parish.’

‘No Minister shall publish the Banns, or celebrate the Contract of 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 recompenseas 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.’

‘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 originallyframed 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 countrywomenpro 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.

Thefollowingmorceaugives 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 macaronyWho 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 ladiesOn 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 GracesTo Windsor’s wide forest or Maidenhead races.Through Kensington passing I saw a fine showOf 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 basket29I 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’s30new 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’s31balloon.’Much pleas’d with my path when I march’d on apace,I reach’d Turnham Green; on that sweet rural placeI 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 anyTo pay toll at the bridge and to buy a few plumbs;My silver I chang’d for a handful of Brums.32But, my sight being struck with the beauty of Kew,I forgot my expenses, when, having in viewThe new Royal Bridge33and its elegant ArchesThere o’er the bright Thames, where the people in bargesAnd 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 spotWhich is called Richmond Hill—what a prospect amazing!Extensive and pleasant; I could not help gazingOn 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 awayTo a cheerful repast at a Gentleman’s seat,Whose friendship vouchsaf’d me a happy retreat.

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 macaronyWho 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 ladiesOn 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 GracesTo Windsor’s wide forest or Maidenhead races.

Through Kensington passing I saw a fine showOf 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 basket29I 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’s30new 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’s31balloon.’

Much pleas’d with my path when I march’d on apace,I reach’d Turnham Green; on that sweet rural placeI 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 anyTo 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 viewThe new Royal Bridge33and its elegant ArchesThere o’er the bright Thames, where the people in bargesAnd 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 spotWhich is called Richmond Hill—what a prospect amazing!Extensive and pleasant; I could not help gazingOn 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 awayTo a cheerful repast at a Gentleman’s seat,Whose friendship vouchsaf’d me a happy retreat.

Shouldanyone 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 Geraldinefamily, 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, wassent 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’ ittheirs. 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, ledhim 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 mostamusing 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 toblack-ballhim), 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 ablack ball, and, when the scrutiny took place, the company were not a little amazed to find not evenonewhite one among the number. However, the point of rejection being carriednem. 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 nowhite ballin the box, he must know thatyouhave 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 wasoneblack 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 knowthe 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 amchoseyet?”

‘“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 thelittle 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 amchoseyet.”

‘“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 alittle surprised and pleased to find his guest shake him by the hand, which he squeezed heartily between his own two, saying,

‘“My dear Mr. Brookes,I’m chose; and I give ye much joy: for I’ll warrant ye’ll find me the best customer in your house! But there must be a small matter of mistake in my election; and, as I should not wish to be so ungenteel as to take my sate among my dear friends above-stairs, until that mistake is duly rectified, you’ll just step up and make my compliments to the gentlemen, and say, as it is only a mistake ofoneblack ball, they will be so good as to waive all ceremony on my account, and proceed to re-elect their humble servant without any more delay at all; so now, my dear Mr. Brookes, you may put down the coffee, and I’ll be drinking it whilst the new election is going on!”

‘Away went Mr. Brookes, glad enough to escape with whole bones, for this time at least. On announcing the purport of his errand to the assembly above-stairs, many of the members were panic-struck, for they clearly foresaw that some disagreeable circumstance was likely to be the finale of the farce they had been playing. Mr. Brookes stood silent for some minutes, waiting for an answer, whilst several of the members whispered, and laughed, in groups, at the ludicrous figure which they all cut. At length the Earl of March (afterwards Duke of Queensbury) said aloud,

‘“Try the effect oftwoblack balls; d——n his Irish impudence; if two balls don’t take effect upon him, I don’t know what will.” This proposition met with unanimous approbation, and Mr. Brookes was ordered to communicate accordingly.

‘On re-entering the waiting-room, Mr. Fitzgerald rose hastily from his chair, and, seizing him by the hand, eagerly inquired,

‘“Have they elected me right now, Mr. Brookes?”

‘“I hope no offence, Mr. Fitzgerald,” said the landlord, “but I am sorry to inform you that the result of the second balloting is—thattwoblack balls were dropped in, sir.”

‘“By J——s, then,” exclaimed Fitzgerald, “there’s nowtwomistakes instead of one. Go back, my dear friend, and tell the honourable members that it is a very uncivil thing to keep a gentleman waiting below-stairs, with no one to keep him company but himself, whilst they are enjoying themselves with their champagne, and their cards, and their Tokay, up above. Tell them to try again, and I hope they will have better luck this time, and make no more mistakes, because it’s getting late, and I won’t be chose to-night at all. So now, Mr. Brookes, be off with yourself, and lave the door open till I see what despatch you make.”’

Away went Mr. Brookes for the last time. On announcing his unwelcome errand, everyone saw that palliative measures only prolonged the dilemma: and General Fitzpatrick proposed that Brookes should tell him: “His cause was hopeless, for that he wasblack-balled all overfrom head to foot, and it was hoped by all the members that Mr. Fitzgerald would not persist in thrusting himself into society where his company was declined.”

‘This message, it was generally believed, would prove a sickener, as it certainly would have done to any other candidate under similar circumstances. Notso, however, to Fitzgerald, who no sooner heard the purport of it, than he exclaimed,

‘“Oh, I perceive it isa mistake altogether, Mr. Brookes, and I must see to the rectifying of it myself; there’s nothing like dealing with principals, and so I’ll step up at once, and put the thing to rights, without any more unnecessary delay.”

‘In spite of Mr. Brookes’s remonstrance that his entrance into the club-room was against all rule and etiquette, Fitzgerald found his way up-stairs, threatening to throw the landlord over the bannisters for endeavouring to stop him. He entered the room without any further ceremony than a bow, saying to the members, who indignantly rose up at this most unexpected intrusion,

‘“Your servant, gentlemen! I beg ye will be sated.” Walking up to the fire-place, he thus addressed Admiral Stewart: “So, my dear admiral, Mr. Brookes informs me that I have beenelectedthree times.”

‘“You have been balloted for, Mr. Fitzgerald, but I am sorry to say you have not been chosen,” said Stewart.

‘“Well, then,” replied the duellist, “did you black-ball me?”

‘“My good sir,” answered the admiral, “how could you suppose such a thing?”

‘“Oh, Isupposedno such thing, my dear fellow, I only want to know who it was dropped the black balls in by accident, as it were.”

‘Fitzgerald now went up to each individual member, and put the same questionseriatim, “Did you black-ball me, sir?” until he made the round of thewhole club; and it may well be supposed that in every case he obtained similar answers to that of the admiral. When he had finished his inquisition, he thus addressed the whole body, who preserved as dread and dead a silence as the urchins at a parish school do on a Saturday when the pedagogue orders half-a-score of them to behorsedfor neglecting their catechism, which they have to repeat to the parson on Sunday:

‘“You see, gentlemen, that as none of ye have black-balled me,I must be chose; and it is Misthur Brookes that has made the mistake. But I was convinced of it from the beginning, and I am only sorry that so much time has been lost as to prevent honourable gentlemen from enjoying each other’s good company sooner. Waither! Come here, you rascal, and bring me a bottle of champagne, till I drink long life to the club, and wish them joy of their unanimous election of a raal gentleman by father and mother, and—” this part of Fitzgerald’s address excited the risible muscles of everyone present; but he soon restored them to their former lugubrious position by casting around him a ferocious look, and saying, in a voice of thunder—“and who never missed his man! Go for the champagne, waithur; and, d’ye hear, sur, tell your masthur—Misthur Brookes, that is—not to make any more mistakes about black balls, for, though it is below a gentleman to call him out, I will find other means of giving him a bagful of broken bones.”

‘The members now saw that there was nothing for it but to send the intruder to Coventry, which they appeared to do by tacit agreement; for when Admiral Stewart departed, which he did almost immediately,Mr. Fitzgerald found himself completely cut by all “his dear friends.” The gentlemen now found themselves in groups at the several whist-tables, and no one chose to reply to his observations, nor to return even a nod to the toasts and healths which he drank whilst discussing three bottles of the sparkling liquor which the terrified waiter placed before him in succession. At length, finding that no one would communicate with him in either kind, either for drinking or for fighting, he arose, and, making a low bow, took his leave as follows:

‘“Gentlemen, I bid you all good night; I am glad to find ye sosociable. I’ll take care to come earlier next night, and we’ll have a little more of it, please G—d.”

‘The departure of this bully was a great relief to everyone present, for the restraint caused by his vapouring and insolent behaviour was intolerable. The conversation immediately became general, and it was unanimously agreed that half-a-dozen stout constables should be in waiting the next evening to lay him by the heels and bear him off to the watch-house if he attempted again to intrude. Of some such measure Fitzgerald seemed to be aware, for he never showed himself at “Brookes’s” again, though he boasted everywhere that he had been unanimously chosen a member of the club.’

He lived the life of a man about town, and not a very reputable one, either a bully whom everyone feared and no one liked, until the summer of 1773, when he appeared before the public in a dispute of which there is a long account in a contemporary pamphlet, ‘The Vauxhall Affray, or Macaronies defeated.’ The Rev. Henry Bate (afterwards Sir H.B. Dudley), the proprietor and editor of theMorning Post, was at Vauxhall in company with Mrs. Hartley, the actress, her husband, Mr. Colman, and a friend, when Fitzgerald, accompanied by the Hon. Thomas Lyttleton, Captain Croftes, and some others, all more or less intoxicated, behaved so rudely to Mrs. Hartley that she could stand it no longer, and complained. Parson Bate was a notable ‘bruiser,’ and he took her part, and struck Croftes a blow. Cards were exchanged, and next morning an interview was arranged, at which the clergyman and officer were reconciled, when in bounced Fitzgerald, and declared, in a most insolent manner, that Mr. Bate should give immediate satisfaction to his friend, Captain Miles, whom, he said, the former had grossly insulted the evening before. Miles was introduced, and declared that he had been affronted by the clergyman, and if he did not immediately strip and fight with him, he (Miles) would post him as a coward, and cane him wherever he met him.

Mindful of his cloth, Mr. Bate hesitated; but Miles, saying something about cowardice, the parson threw all consideration of his calling to the winds, a ring was formed, and Captain Miles received the handsomest thrashing he ever had. Soon afterwards it transpired that Captain Miles was Fitzgerald’s own servant, who had been compelled by his master so to behave. Mr. Bate very properly exposed the affair in theMorning Post.

We next hear of him engaged in a duel with Captain Scawen of the Guards, which was fought at Lille, and twice he fired before his adversary. Luckily he missed him, and the second time the captain, having fired in the air, the affair ended.

He was concerned in another duel, which made some stir at the time (1775). There was a young fellow named Walker, the son of a plumber and painter, whose father left him a large fortune, and Daisy Walker, as he was called, became a cornet in Burgoyne’s Light Dragoons. His fortune soon went in gambling, and he had to retire from the service, whilst his guardians looked into his affairs. At that time Fitzgerald held a bill of his for three thousand pounds, and pressed for payment. It was ultimately compromised, and, on receipt of five hundred pounds, he gave up the bill. Subsequently Daisy Walker made some lucky bets, and Fitzgerald at once became clamourous for payment of two thousand five hundred pounds. Walker denied his liability, saying the matter was settled by the payment of five hundred pounds and the return of the bill; but this was not Fitzgerald’s view of the matter, and he dunned young Walker whenever he met him, and at last, at Ascot races, he cut him across the face with his cane.

Of course, in those days, there could be but one course to be taken, and a challenge was sent, and accepted. Walker, as being the insulted party, should fire first. They duly met, and the distance was fixed at ten paces, but the second who measured the ground took such strides that it was virtually twelve paces. Walker fired, and his antagonist was unhurt. Fitzgerald, who had the whole etiquette of the duello at his finger’s ends, then stepped forward and apologised for having struck Walker—which apology was accepted. But, as soon as this ceremony was finished, Fitzgerald again began dunning for his £2,500, and, when he was told that it was not owing, he prepared totake his shot, offering to bet £1,000 that he hit his adversary. The pistol missed fire, and he calmly chipped the flint, reiterating his offer to bet. He fired, and the ball grazed Walker in the arm just below the shoulder, but did not wound him, and they left the field. Subsequently, however, Fitzgerald declared that Walker was ‘papered,’i.e., protected in some way, and published an account of the duel in a pamphlet, addressed to the Jockey Club. To this Walker replied, and Fitzgerald followed up with another pamphlet, in which he says:—

‘I should most certainly have fixed it atsixinstead oftenpaces. My predilection for that admeasurement of ground is founded upon the strictest principles of humanity. For I know, from trials successively repeated, twenty times one after the other, I can, at that distance, hit any part of the human body to aline, which, possibly you may know, is only thetwelfth part of an inch.’

And he again refers to his pistol-practice. ‘So, then, you had one Surtout on; are you certain you had not half-a-dozen? If no more than one Surtout, pray how many coats and waistcoats? You give us no account of your under-garments. I ask these questions, Sir, because, after reading your pamphlet, I took the same pistol, charged it with the same quantity of powder, used a bullet cast in the same mould, measured out twelve good paces with a yard wand, and then fired at a thick stick, which I had previously covered over with two waistcoats lined, one coat lined, and one double-milled drab Surtout. What think you, Sir, was the result? Why, Sir, the ball penetrated through the Surtout, the coat, twowaistcoats, and lodged itself an inch deep in the stick. There is nothing like experimental philosophy for a fair proof, it beats youripse dixitsall halloo. You see how ingeniously I pass away my private hours—I am always hard at study.’

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