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ON Monday morning, the
9th of October, old style, my father and I set out for Newcastle on
horseback, where we arrived on Wednesday to dinner. Having secured
my passage on board a small vessel going to Rotterdam, that was to
sail whenever there was a convoy, we rode to Sunderland to visit
some emigrants whom we understood were there, and found old George
Buchan and his brother-in-law, Mr. William Grant, afterwards Lord
Advocate, and Lord Prestongrange. We dined with them, and were told
that Lord Drummore and many others of our friends had taken up their
residence at Bishop Auckland, where they wished to have been had
there been room. Next day my father and the servant set out on their
journey home, and I having been acquainted with some of the Common
Council of Newcastle, was invited to dine with the mayor at one of
their guild dinners. A Mr. Fenwick, I think, was mayor that year. I
was seated at the end of one of the long tables in the same room,
next Mr. John Simpson, afterwards Alderman Simpson, sheriff of
Newcastle for that year. As I was fresh from Scotland, I had to
answer all the questions that were put tome concerning the affairs
of that country, and I saw my intelligence punctually detailed in
the Newcastle Journal next morning. Of that company there was one
gentleman, a wine merchant, who was alive in the year 1797 or 1798,
when happening to dine with the mayor, the subject was talked of,
and he recollected it perfectly.
At the inn where I
slept I met with my companion Bob Cunningham, who had been a
Volunteer in Edinburgh, and with Francis Garden, who had been taken
prisoner by the rebels, as narrated in Home's History. [The incident
is mentioned above, p. 145. Francis Garden was raised to the bench
in 1764, when he took the title of Lord Garden-stone: he was author
of miscellanies in prose and verse, and travelling memorandums. The
immediately following sentences might seem to refer to him, but they
are intended to refer to Cunningham. —J. H. B.] He and I supped
together one of the nights. He was studying law; but his father
being an officer, and at that time Lieutenant of Stirling Castle, he
had a military turn, which was heightened by the short campaign he
had made. He resented the bad usage his father's nephew, Murray of
Broughton, the Pretender's Secretary, had given him during the day
he was a captive, and was determined to become a volunteer in some
regiment till the rebellion was suppressed; but expressed a strong
abhorrence at the subordination in the army, and the mortifications
to which it exposed a man. I argued that he ought either to return
immediately to his studies, or fix on the army for his profession,
and stated the difference between modern armies and those of Greece
and Rome, with which his imagination was fired, where a man could be
a leading citizen and a great general at the same time. He debated
on this point till two in the morning, and though lie did not
confess he was convinced, he went into the army immediately, and
rose till he became a general of horse in Ireland. He was; at the
time I met him, very handsome, and had an enlightened and ardent
mind. He went to Durham next morning, and I never saw him more.
On the Tuesday I was
summoned to go down to Shields, as the sloop had fallen down there,
and was to sail immediately with the London convoy. I went down
accordingly, and had to live for six days with the rude and ignorant
masters of colliers. There was one army surgeon of the name of
Allan, a Stirling man, who had taken his passage, and had some
conversation. At last, on Monday the 14th of October, I went on
board the Blagdon of Newcastle, Tim `Whinny, master, who boasted
that his vessel had ridden out the great storm of January 29, 1739,
at the back of Inchkeith. She was loaded with kits of butter and
glass bottles. I was the only passenger. There was, besides the
master, a mate, an old sailor, and two boys. As we let the great
ships go out before us, it was night almost before we got over the
bar.
Next day, the weather
being calm and moderate, we had an agreeable sail along the coast of
Yorkshire; in the evening, however, the gale rose, separated the
fleet of about eighty sail, and drove us off shore. We passed a
dreary night with sickness, and not without fear, for the idle boys
had mislaid things, and it was two hours before the hatches could be
closed. The gale abated in the morning, and about mid-day we made
for the coast again, but did not come in with the land till two
o'clock, when we descried the Norfolk coast, and saw many ships
making for Yarmouth. About ten at night we came up with them, and
found them to be part of the fleet with which we had sailed from
Shields. Next day, Friday the 18th, we came into Yarmouth Roads,
when the master and I went ashore in the boat. The master was as
much a stranger there as I was, for though he had been often in the
roads, he had never gone ashore. This town is handsome, and lies in
a singular situation. It stands on a flat plain, about a quarter of
a mile from the sea. It is an oblong square, about a mile in length,
and a third part as broad. The whole length is intersected by three
streets, which are rather too narrow. That nearest is well built,
and lands on the market-place to the north, which is very spacious,
and remarkably well provided with every kind of vivres for the pot
and the spit.
The market-women are
clean beyond example, and the butchers themselves dressed with great
neatness indeed. In short, there was nothing to offend the eye or
any of the senses in Yarmouth market. Very genteel-looking women
were providing for their families. But the quay which is on the west
side of the town, and lies parallel to the beach, is the most
remarkable thing about the town, though there is a fine old Gothic
church in the market-place, with a very lofty steeple, the spire of
which is crooked, and likewise a fine modern chapel-of-ease in the
street leading to it. The quay is a mile long, and is formed by a
river, the mouth of which, above a mile distant at the village of
Gorleston, forms the harbour. The largest colliers can deliver their
goods at the quay, and the street behind it has only one row of the
handsomest houses in the town. As the master and I knew nobody, we
went into the house of a Robin Sad, at the sign of the Three Kings,
who, standing at his own door near the south end of the quay, had
such an inviting aspect and manner that I could not resist him. His
house was perhaps not second-best, but it was cleanly, and I stayed
two nights with him. He entertained me much, for he had been several
years a mate in the Mediterranean in his youth, and was vain and
boastful, and presumptuous and ignorant, to my great delight.
In the evening two
men had come into the house and drank a pot or two of ale. He said
they were customhouse officers, and was ill-pleased, as they did not
use to frequent his house, but they had come into the common room on
hearing of my being in the house; and though they sat at a distance
from the fireplace, where the landlord and I were, they could hear
our conversation. Next morning, after nine, they came again, and
with many apologies, addressing themselves to me, said they had
orders from the Commissioners to inquire my name and designation, as
they understood I was going beyond sea to Holland. I had no scruple
in writing it down to them. They returned in half an hour and told
me that they were ordered to carry me before the Lord Mayor. I went
accordingly down to Justice Hall, where I waited a little while in
an ante-chamber, and overheard my landlord Sad under examination. He
was very high and resentful in his answers, and had a tone of
contempt for men who, he said, were unfit to rule, as they did not
know the value of any coins but those of England. He answered with a
still more saucy pride, when they asked him what expense I made, and
in the end told them exultingly that I had ordered him to buy the
best goose in the market for to-morrow's dinner. I was called in and
examined. The Mayor was an old grey-headed man, of a mild address.
He had been a common fisher, and had become very rich, though he
could not write, but signed his name with a stamp. After my
examination, under which I had nothing to conceal, they told me, as
I was going abroad, they were obliged to tender me the oaths or
detain me. I objected to that, as they had no ground of suspicion,
and offered to show them my diploma as Master of Arts of the
University of Edinburgh, and a Latin letter from the University of
Glasgow to any Foreign University where I might happen to go. They
declined looking at them, and insisted on my taking the oaths,
which, accordingly were administered, and I was dismissed. I did not
know that the habeas coypus was not then suspended, and that if they
had detained me I could have recovered large expenses from them. I
amused myself in town till the master came on shore, when, after
dinner, we walked down to Gorleston, the harbour at the mouth of the
river, where we heard of three vessels which were to sail without
convoy, on Monday, with the ebb tide.
I stayed this night
with landlord Sad, and invited the master to dine with us next day,
being Sunday, when we were to have our fine goose roasted. I went in
the morning to their fine chapel, which was paneled with mahogany,
and saw a very populous audience. The service and the sermon were
but so so. Tim Whinny came in good time, and we were on board by
four o'clock, and fell down opposite the harbour of Gorleston. As
the three colliers which were to venture over to Holland without
convoy were bound for a different port from Helvoet, which was our
object, our master spent all the morning of Monday making inquiry
for any ship that was going where we were bound, and ranged the
coast down as far as Lowestoff for this purpose, but was
disappointed. This made us so late of sailing, that the three ships
which took through the gat or opening between sand-banks, were
almost out of sight before we ventured to sail. Tim's caution was
increased by his having his whole property on board, which he often
mentioned. At last, after a solemn council on the quarter-deck,
where I gave my voice strongly for our immediate departure, we
followed the track of the three ships, the last of which was still
in sight; and having a fine night, with a fair breeze of wind, we
came within sight of land at ten o'clock next day. The shore is so
flat, and the country so level, that one sees nothing on approaching
it but tops of steeples and masts of ships. Early in the afternoon I
got on shore at Helvoet, on the island of Voorn, and put up at an
English house, where one Fell was the landlord.
There I saw the first
specimen of Dutch cleanliness, so little to be expected in a small
seaport. As I wished to be as soon as I could at Rotterdam, I
quitted my friend Tim Whinny to come up at his leisure, and went on
board the Rotterdam schuyt at nine in the morning, and arrived there
in a few hours. The beauty of this town, and of the river Maas that
flows by it and forms its harbour, is well known. The sight of the
Boompjes, and of the canals that carry shipping through the whole
town, surprised and pleased me much. I had been directed to put up
at Caters, an English house, where I took up my lodgings
accordingly, and adhered to it in the two or three trips I made
afterwards to this city, and found it an exceeding good house, where
the expense was moderate, and everything good. In the afternoon I
inquired for Mr. Robert Herries, on whom I had my credit, and found
his house on the Scotch Dyke, after passing in the doit-boat over
the canal that separates it from the end of the Boompjes.
From Mr. Herries I
met with a very kind reception. He was a handsome young man, of a
good family in Annandale, who had not succeeded in business at
Dumfries, and had been sent over by my uncle Provost George Bell, of
that town, as their agent and factor—as at that time they dealt
pretty deep in the tobacco trade. He had immediately assimilated to
the manners of the Dutch, and was much respected among them. He
lived in a very good house, with a Mr. Robertson and his wife from
Aberdeen—very sensible, good sort of people. They took very much to
me, and insisted on my dining with them every day. Next door to them
lived a Mr. Livingston, from Aberdeen also, who was thought to be
rich. His wife was the daughter of Mr. Kennedy, one of the ministers
of the Scotch Church. She was a very handsome and agreeable woman;
and neither of the ladies having children, they had little care, and
lived a very sociable and pleasant life, especially my landlady,
whose attractions consisted chiefly in good sense and good temper.
Our neighbour being young and gay as well as handsome, had not quite
so much liberty. Mr. Herries and his friends advised me to remain
some days with them, because, our king's birthday having happened
lately, the British students were to have a grand entertainment, and
it was better for me to escape the expense that might be incurred by
going there too soon. Besides, I had to equip myself in clothes, and
with a sword and other necessaries, with which I could be better and
cheaper supplied at Rotterdam than at Leyden. I took their advice,
and they were so obliging as to have new company for me every day,
among whom were Mess. Kennedy, and Ainslie his colleague; the first
was popular, and pompous, and political, and an Irishman. The second
was a plain; sensible Scotchman, less sought after, but more
respectable than his colleague. During my stay at Rotterdam I was
informed of everything, and saw everything that was new or curious.
Travelling in Holland by means of the canals is easy and commodious;
and though the country is so flat that one can see to no distance,
yet the banks of the canals, especially as you approach the cities,
are so:much adorned with pleasure-houses and flower-gardens as to
furnish a constant succession, not of the grand and sublime or
magnificent works of nature, but of a profusion of the rich and
gaudy effects of opulence without taste. When I arrived at Leyden,
which was in a few hours, I found my lodgings ready, having had a
correspondence from Rotterdam with Thomas Dickson, M.D., afterwards
my brother-in-law. They were in the house of a Madame Vandertasse,
on the Long Bridge. There were in her house besides, Mr. Dickson,
Dr. John Gregory, Mr. Nicholas Monckly, and a Mr. Skirrat, a student
of law. Vandertasse's was an established lodging-house, her father
and mother having carried on that business, so that we lived very
well thereat a moderate rate—that is, sixteen stivers for dinner,
two for coffee, six for supper and for breakfast. She was a lively
little Frenchwoman, about thirty-six, had been tolerably
well-looking, and was plump and in good condition. As she had only
one maid-servant, and five gentlemen to provide for, she led an
active and laborious life; insomuch that she had but little time for
her toilet, except in the article of the coif, which no Frenchwoman
omits. But on Sundays, when she had leisure to dress herself for the
French Church, either in the morning or evening, then who but
Mademoiselle Vandertasse! She spoke English perfectly well, as the
guests of the house had been mostly British.
As I had come last, I
had the worst bed-chamber. Besides board, we paid pretty high for
our rooms, and dearest of all for fuel, which was chiefly peat. We
had very good small claret at a shilling a bottle, giving her the
benefit of our exemption from town duty for sixty stoups of wine for
every student. Our house was in high repute for the best coffee, so
that our friends were pleased when they were invited to partake with
us of that delicious beverage. We had no company to dinner; but in
the evenings about a dozen of us met at one another's rooms in turn
three times a week, and drank coffee, and smoked tobacco, and
chatted about politics, and drank claret, and supped on bukkam
(Dutch red-herrings), and eggs, and salad, and never sat later than
twelve o'clock —at Mr. Gowan's, the clergyman, never later than ten,
unless when we deceived him by making such a noise when the hour was
ringing as prevented his hearing it.
Though I had not been
acquainted with John Gregory formerly, which was owing to my two
winters' residence at Glasgow when he was in Edinburgh, yet, as he
knew most of my friends there, we soon became intimate together, and
generally passed two hours every forenoon in walking. His friend
Monckly being very fat, and a bad walker, could not follow us. There
were at this time about twenty-two British students at Leyden, of
whom, besides the five at our house already named, were the
Honourable Charles Townshend, afterwards a distinguished statesman
and husband to Lady Dalkeith, the mother of the Duke of Buccleuch;
Mr. James Johnstone, junior, of Westerhall; Dr. Anthony Askew; John
Campbell, junior, of Stonefield; his tutor Mr. Morton, afterwards a
professor at St. Andrews; John Wilkes, [The famous Radical M.P.] his
companion Mr. Bland, and their tutor Mr. Lyson; Mr. Freeman from
Jamaica; Mr. Doddeswell, [Of Mr. Doddeswell, Burke wrote: "There
never was a soul so remote as his from duplicity, or fear, so
perfectly free from any rapacious unevenness of temper which
embitters friendships and perplexes business."] afterwards
Chancellor of the Exchequer; Mr. Wetherell from the West Indies; Dr.
Charles Congalton, to this day physician in Edinburgh; an Irish
gentleman, Keefe, I think, in his house; Willie Gordon, afterwards
K.B., with four or five more, whose names I have forgot, and who did
not associate with my friends.
On the first Sunday
evening I was in Leyden, I walked round the Cingle-a fine walk on
the outside of the Rhine, which formed the wet ditch of the
town—with John Gregory, who introduced me to the British students as
we met them, not without giving me a short character of them, which
I found in general a very just outline. When we came to John Wilkes,
whose ugly countenance in early youth was very striking, I asked
earnestly who he was. His answer was, that he was the son of a
London distiller or brewer, who wanted to be a fine gentleman and
man of taste, which he could never be, for God and nature had been
against him. I came to know Wilkes very well afterwards, and found
him to be a sprightly entertaining fellow-too much so for his years,
as he was but eighteen; for even then he showed something of daring
profligacy, for which he was afterwards notorious. Though he was
fond of learning, and passionately desirous of being thought
something extraordinary, he was unlucky in having an old ignorant
pedant of a dissenting parson for his tutor. This man, a Mr. Leeson
or Lyson, had been singled out by the father as the best tutor in
the world for his most promising son, because, at the age of
threescore, after studying controversy for more than thirty years,
he told his congregation that he was going to leave them, and would
tell them the reason next Sunday; when, being fully convened, he
told them that, with much anxiety and care, he had examined the
Arian controversy, and was now convinced that the creed he had read
to them as his creed was false, and that he had now adopted that of
the Arians, and was to bid them farewell. The people were shocked
with this creed, and not so sorry as they would otherwise have been
to part with him, for he was a good-natured well-meaning man. His
chief object seemed to be to make Wilkes an Arian also, and he
teased him so much about it that he was obliged to declare that he
did not believe the Bible at all, which produced a quarrel between
them, and Wilkes, for refuge, went frequently to Utrecht, where he
met with Immateriality Baxter, as he was called, who then attended
Lord Blantyre and Mr. Hay of Drummellier, as he had formerly done
Lord John Gray.
This gentleman was
more to Wilkes's taste than his own tutor; for though lie was a
profound philosopher and a hard student, he was at the same time a
man of theworld, and of such pleasing conversation as attracted the
young. Baxter was so much pleased with Wilkes that he dedicated one
of his pieces to him. He died in 1750, which fact leads me to
correct an error in the account of Baxter's life, in which he is
much praised for his keeping well with Wilkes, though he had given
so much umbrage to the Scotch. But this is a gross mistake, for the
people of that nation were alwaysWilkes's favourites till 1763,
thirteen years after Baxter's death, when he became a violent
party-writer, and wished to raise his fame and fortune on the ruin
of Lord Bute. [The friendship here alluded to is interesting, as
affording evidence that Wilkes had been able to attach to himself at
least one virtuous and enlightened friend. Baxter afterwards wrote
to him thus: "We talked much on this, you may remember, in the
capuchin's garden at Spa. I have finished the Prima Cura; it is in
the dialogue way, and design to inscribe it to my dear John Wilkes,
whom, under a borrowed name, I have made one of the interlocutors.
If you are against this -",him (which a passionate love for you has
made me conceive) I will drop it."—Wilkes's Correspondence, i. 15.
Wilkes does not appear to have been against this whim. The Appendix
to the First Part of the Inquiry into the Nature of the Human Soul,
appeared in 1750, within a few months after this letter was written.
Its author did not live to see it printed, but it contains the
dedication.—J. H. B.]
Wilkes was very fond
of shining in conversation very prematurely, for at that time he had
but little knowledge except what he derived from Baxter in his
frequent visits to Utrecht. In the art of shining, however, he was
much outdone by Charles Townshend, who was not above a year older,
and had still less furniture in his head; but then his person and
manners were more engaging. He had more wit and humour, and a turn
for mimicry; and, above all, had the talent of translating other
men's thoughts, which they had produced in the simple style of
conversation, into the most charming language, which not only took
the ear but elevated the thoughts. No person I ever knew nearly
equalled Charles Townshend in this talent, but Dr. Robertson, who,
though he had a very great fund of knowledge and thought of his own,
was yet so passionately fond of shining, that he seized what was
nearest at hand—the conversation of his friends of that morning or
the day before [Lord Cockburn's sketch of Dr. Robertson in his later
years (Memorials of his Life and Times) notices this strong
characteristic of the Principal.]—and embellished it with such rich
language, that they hardly knew it again themselves, insomuch that
he was the greatest plagiary in conversation that ever I knew. It is
to this, probably, that his biographer alludes (his strong itch for
shining) when he confesses he liked his conversation best when he
had not an audience. [In allusion evidently to the following passage
in Dugald Stewart's account of the life and writings of
Robertson.—J. H. S. "In the company of strangers he increased his
exertions to amuse and inform; and the splendid variety of his
conversation was commonly the chief circumstance on which they dwelt
in enumerating his talents; and yet I must acknowledge, for my own
part, that much as I always admired his powers, when they were thus
called forth, I enjoyed his society less than when I saw him in the
circle of his intimates, or in the bosom of his family."]
Gregory's chum, Dr.
Monckly, had this talent too, and exercised it so as to bring on him
the highest ridicule. He was in reality an ignorant vain blockhead,
who had the most passionate desire of shining, which Gregory was
entirely above. His usual method was to get Gregory into his room,
either before or after breakfast, when he settled with him what were
to be the leading topics of the day, especially at our
coffee-parties and our club suppers, for we soon broke him of his
attempt to shine at dinner. Having thus settled everything with
Gregory, and heard his opinion, he let him go a-walking with me, and
jotted down the topics and arguments he had heard. The very prospect
of the glory he was to earn in the evening made him contented and
happy all day. Gregory kept his secret as I did, who was generally
let into it in our walk, and prayed not to contradict the fat man,
which I seldom did when he was not too provoking. Unfortunately, one
night Gregory took it into his head to contradict him when he was
haranguing very pompously on tragedy or comedy, or some subject of
criticism. The poor man looked as if he had been shot, and after
recovering himself, said with a ghastly smile, "Surely this was not
always your opinion." Gregory persisted, and after saying that
criticism was a subject on which he thought it lawful to change, he
entirely refuted the poor undone doctor: not another word did he
utter the whole evening. He had his coffee in his room next morning,
and sent for Gregory before we left the parlour. I waited for an
hour, when at last he joined me, and told me he had been rated at no
allowance by the fat man; and when he defended himself by saying
that he had gone far beyond the bounds prescribed, the poor soul
fell into tears, and said he was undone, as he had lost the only
friend he had in the world. It cost Gregory some time to comfort him
and to exhort him, by exacting from him some deference to himself at
our future parties (for the blockhead till then had never so much as
said what is your opinion on this subject, Dr. Gregory). A new
settlement was made between them, and we went on very well; for when
some of the rest were debating bona fide with the absurd animal, I,
who was in the secret, gave him line and encouragement till he had
got far beyond his depth, while Gregory was sitting silent in a
corner, and never interposed till he was in danger of being drowned
in the mud. This may seem a cruel amusement, but I forgave Gregory,
for there was no living with Monckly without it.
We passed our time in
general very agreeably, and very profitably too; for the
conversations at our evening meetings of young men of good
knowledge, intended for different professions, could not fail to be
instructive, much more so than the lectures, which, except two, that
of civil law and that of chemistry, were very dull. I asked Gregory
why he did not attend the lectures, which he answered by asking in
his turn why I did not attend the divinity professors (for there was
no less than four of them). Having heard all they could say in a
much better form at home, we went but rarely, and for form's sake
only, to hear the Dutchmen. At this time we were in great anxiety
about the Rebellion, and were frequently three or four weeks without
getting a packet from England; insomuch that Gregory and I agreed to
make a trip to Rotterdam to learn if they had heard anything by
fishing-boats. We went one day and returned the next without
learning anything. We dined with my agreeable friends on the Scotch
Dyke, Herries and Robertson. In returning in the schuyt, I said to
Gregory that he would be laughed at for having gone so far and
having brought back no news, but if he would support me I would
frame a gazette. He promised, and I immediately wrote a few
paragraphs, which I said I had copied from Allan the banker's
private letter he had got by a fishing-boat. This was to impose on
Dr. Askew, for Allan was his banker. I took care also to make
Admiral Townshend take two ships of the line at Newfoundland, for he
was Charles Townshend's uncle, and so on with the rest of our
friends. On our arrival they all assembled at our lodging, and our
news passed current for all that day. At night we disclosed our
fabrication, being unable to hold out any longer. On another
occasion I went down with Dr. Askew, who, as a learned man of
twenty-eight, had come over to Leyden to collate manuscripts of
Æschylus for a new edition. His father had given him io,000 in the
stocks, so that he was a man of importance. Askew's errand at this
time was to cheat his banker Allan, as he said he would draw on him
for £100, which he did not want, because Exchange was at that time
against Holland. In vain did I try to persuade him that the banker
would take care not to lose by him. But he persisted, such being the
skill in business of this eminent Grecian. He had some drollery, but
neither much sense nor useful learning. He was much alarmed when the
Highlanders got as far as Derby, and believed that London would be
taken and the bank ruined. I endeavoured in vain to raise his
spirits; at last I told him that personally I did not much care, for
I had nothing to lose, and would not return to Britain under a bad
Government. You are the very man I want, says he, for I have £400 or
£500 worth of books, and some name as a Greek scholar. We'll begin
book-selling, and you shall be my partner and auctioneer, This was
soon settled, and as soon forgot when the rebels marched back from
Derby. When Gregory and I were alarmed at some of the expensive
suppers some of our friends gave from the taverns, we went to Askew,
whose turn was next, and easily persuaded him to limit his suppers
to eggs and bukkarn and salad, which he accordingly gave us next
night, which, with tobacco of 40 stivers a lb. and very good claret,
pleased us all. After this no more fine suppers were presented, and
Gowans, the old minister of the Scottish Church, [The Rev. Mr.
Go\vans was minister of the Scots Kirk at Leyder, from 1716 till
1753.] ventured to be of our number, and was very pleasant.
I went twice to the
Hague, which was then a very delightful place. Here I met with my
kinsman, Willie Jardine, now Sir William, who was a cornet in the
Prince of Orange's Horse Guards, and then a very handsome genteel
fellow, for as odd as he has turned out since. Though I had no
introduction to anybody there, and no acquaintance but the two
students who accompanied me the first time, I thought it a
delightful place. A ball that was given about this time by the
Imperial Ambassador, on the Empress's birthday, was fatal to one of
our students—a very genteel, agreeable rake, as ever I saw, from the
West Indies. At a preceding dancing assembly he had been taken out
by a Princess of Waldeck, and had acquitted himself so well that she
procured him an invitation to the birthday ball, and engaged him to
dance with her. He had run himself out a good deal before; and a
fine suit of white and silver, which cost 6o, completed his
distress, and he was obliged to retire without showing it to us more
than once. There was another West Indian there, a Mr. Freeman, a man
of fortune, sedate and sensible. He was very handsome and well-made.
Having been three years in Leyden, he was the best skater there.
There was an East India captain resident in that city, whom the
Dutch set up as a rival to Freeman, and they frequently appeared on
the Rhine together. The Dutchman was tall and jolly, but very active
withal. The ladies, however, gave the palm to Freeman, who was so
handsome, and having a figure much like Garrick, all his motions
were perfectly genteel. This gentleman, after we left Leyden, made
the tour of Italy, Sicily, and Greece, with Willie Gordon and
Doddeswell; the former of whom told me long afterwards that he had
died soon after he returned to Jamaica, which was Gordon's own
native country, though his parents were Scotch, and cousins of
Gordon of Hawhead, in Aberdeenshire. He was too young and too
dissipated to attend our evening meetings; neither did Charles
Congalton, who was one of the best young men I have ever known. His
pretence was that lie could not leave his Irish chum of the name of
Keefe; but the truth was, that having been bred a Jacobite, and
having many friends and relations in the Rebellion, lie did not like
to keep company with those who were warm friends of Government.
Dickson and he were my companions on a tour to Amsterdam, where we
stayed only three days, and were much pleased with the magnificence,
wealth, and trade of that city. Dickson was a very honest fellow,
but rather dull, and a hard student. As I commonly sat up an hour
after the rest had gone to their rooms, chatting or reading French
with Mademoiselle, and as Dickson's apartment was next the parlour,
he complained much of the noise we made, laughing and talking,
because it disturbed him, who was a midnight student. He broke in
upon us with impertinent curiosity, but I drove him to his bed, and
by sitting up an hour longer that night, and making more noise than
usual, we reduced him to patience and close quarters ever after, and
we made less noise. I mentioned somewhere that Mademoiselle had paid
for her English, which was true, for she had an affair with a Scotch
gentleman ten or twelve years before, and had followed him to Leith
on pretence of a promise, of which, however, she made nothing but a
piece of money.
At Christmas time,
three or four of us passed three days at Rotterdam, where my friends
were very agreeable to my companions. Young Kennedy, whom we had
known at Amsterdam, was visiting his father at this time, as well as
young Ainslie, the other minister's son, which improved our parties.
Mrs. Kennedy, the mother, was ill of a consumption, and British
physicians being in great credit there, Monckly, who was called
Doctor, though he had not taken his degree, being always more
forward than anybody in showing himself off, was pitched upon by Mr.
Kennedy to visit his wife. Gregory, who was really a physician, and
had acquired both knowledge and skill by having been an apprentice
in his brother's shop at Aberdeen, and visited the patients with
him, was kept in the background; but he was anxiously consulted by
Monckly twice a-day, and taught him his lesson, which he repeated
very exactly, for I heard him two or three times, being a familiar
in the house, while the good Doctor was unconscious that I knew of
his secret oracle. For all this, Monckly was only ridiculous on
account of his childish vanity, and his love of showing himself off.
He was, in reality, a very good-natured and obliging man, of much
benevolence as well as courtesy. He practised afterwards in London
with credit, for they cured him of his affectation at Batson's. He
died not many years after.
At this time five or
six of us made an agreeable journey on skates, to see the painted
glass in the church at Tergou. It was distant twelve miles. We left
Rotterdam at ten o'clock, saw the church, and dined, and returned to
Rotterdam between five and six in the evening. It was moonlight, and
a gentle breeze on our back, so that we returned in an hour and a
quarter.
Gregory, though a far
abler man than Monckly, and not less a man of learning for his age
than of taste, in the most important qualities was not superior to
Monckly. When he was afterwards tried by the ardent spirits of
Edinburgh and the prying eyes of rivalship, he did not escape
without the imputation of being cold, selfish, and cunning. His
pretensions to be more religious than others of his profession, and
his constant eulogies on the female sex as at least equal, if not
superior, to the male, were supposed to be lures of reputation, or
professional arts to get into business. When those objections were
made to him at Edinburgh, I was able to take off the edge from them,
by assuring people that his notions and modes of talking were not
newly adopted for a purpose, for that when at Leyden, at the age of
twenty-one or twenty-two, he was equally incessant and warm on those
topics, though he had not a female to flatter, nor ever went to
church but when I dragged him to please old Gowans. Having found
Aberdeen too narrow a circle for him, he tried London for a
twelvemonth without success—for being ungainly in his person and
manner, and no lucky accident having befallen him, he could not make
his way suddenly in a situation where external graces and address go
much further than profound learning or professional skill. Dr.
Gregory, however, was not without address, for he was much a master
of conversation on all subjects, and without gross flattery obtained
even more than a favourable hearing to himself; for never
contradicting you at first, but rather assenting or yielding, as it
were, to your knowledge and taste, he very often brought you round
to think as he did, and to consider him a superior man. In all my
dealings with him—for he was my family physician—I found him
friendly, affectionate, and generous.
An unlucky accident
happened about the end of January, which disturbed the harmony of
our society, and introduced uneasiness and suspicion among us. At an
evening meeting, where I happened not to be, Charles Townshend, who
had a great deal of wit which he was fond to show, even sometimes at
the expense of his friends, though in reality one of the
best-natured of men, took it in his head to make a butt of James
Johnstone, afterwards Sir James of Westerhall. [Brother of Sir
William Johnstone Pulteney, by whom he was succeeded in the
baronetcy of Westerhall.] Not contented with the smartness of his
raillery, lest it should be obscure, lie frequently accompanied it
with that motion of the tongue in the cheek which explains and
aggravates everything. He continued during the evening to make game
of James, who, slow of apprehension and unsuspicious, had taken all
in good part. Some one of the company, however, who had felt
Charles's smartness, which he did not choose to resent, had gone in
the morning to Johnstone and opened his eyes on Townshend's
behaviour over-night.
Johnstone, though not
apt to take offence, was prompt enough in his resentment when taken,
and immediately resolved to put Charles's courage to the test. I was
sent for next forenoon by twelve o'clock to Charles's lodgings, who
looked pale and undone, more than I had ever seen him. He was liable
at that time to convulsion fits, which seldom failed to attack him
after a late supper. I asked him what was the matter with him; he
answered, that he had been late up, and had been ill. He next asked
me if I had ever observed him use James Johnstone with ill-natured
raillery or sarcasm in company, or ridicule him behind his back. I
answered him that I had never perceived anything between them but
that playsome kind of raillery so frequent among good friends and
companions, and that when Johnstone was absent I had never heard him
ridicule him but for trifles, in spite of which I conceived he had a
respect for him. Upon this he showed me a letter from Johnstone,
taxing him with having often treated him with contempt in company,
and particularly for his behaviour the night before, which having
been made to advert to by a friend who was sharper-sighted than him,
had brought sundry things to his recollection, which, though he did
not mind at the time, were fully explained to him by his behaviour
to him the night before. The letter concluded with a challenge. "And
what answer are you to make to this?" said I. "Not fight, to be
sure," said he, "for I have no quarrel with Johnstone, who is the
best-natured man in the world," "If you can make it up, and keep it
secret, it may do, otherwise you'll be dishonoured by the
transaction." I added, " Find out the malicious scoundrel if you can
who has acted like a vile informer, and take vengeance on him." He
seemed quite irresolute, and I left him with this advice, either to
make it up, or put it over as soon as possible. He made it up, to be
sure, but it was in a manner that hurt him, for Johnstone and he
went round all the lodgings in Leyden, and inquired of everybody if
any of them had ever heard or seen him ridicule Johnstone. Everybody
said no to this, and he and Johnstone became the greater friends.
But it did him more harm than it would or ought to have done at his
raw age, if he had not afterwards betrayed want of firmness of
character. This was a pity, for he had unbounded capacity and
application, and was good-tempered and affectionate.
This accident in some
measure broke the bond of our society, but it was of little
importance to us, who meant to leave Leyden very soon. Gregory and I
had agreed to go to London together, and when Monckly heard of this
resolution, he determined to accompany us. His monitor had advised
him to take his degree in Leyden, but the honest man did not choose
to stand the examination; and he knew that by paying a little more
he could get his diploma sent after him. Dickson remained to take
his degree, as he regarded the additional guineas much more than he
feared the examination. Gregory, with a degree of malice due to the
fat man for his vanity and presumption, pressed him very much to
abide the trial, and blazoned to him the inglorious retreat he was
about to make; but it would not do, as Gregory knew perfectly
beforehand.
About the end of
February or the beginning of March we set out on our return to
Britain ; when, passing two days very agreeably with our friends at
Rotterdam, we fell down to Helvoet, and took our passage on board
the packet, which was to sail for Harwich next morning. On the
journey and voyage Monckly assumed his proper station, which was
that of treasurer and director ; and, to say the truth, lie did it
well ; for except in one instance, he managed our affairs with a
decent economy, no less than with the generosity that became his
assumed office. The exception to this was his allowing himself to be
imposed upon by the landlord of the inn at Helvoet, in laying in
sea-stores for our voyage, for he said he had known packets on the
sea for a week by calms, etc. The director elect, therefore, laid in
a cold ham and a couple of fowls, with a sirloin of beef, nine
bottles of wine and three of brandy, none of all which we were able
to taste except the brandy.
We sailed from
Helvoet at eight in the morning, and having a fine brisk gale, quite
fair, we arrived on the coast of England by eight in the evening;
though, having made the land too far to the northward, it was near
twelve before we got down to Harwich. We had beds in the cabin, and
were all so heartily seasick that we were hardly able to lift up our
heads the whole day, far less to partake of any of our sea-stores,
except a little brandy to settle our stomachs.
We had one cabin
passenger, who was afterwards much celebrated. When we were on the
quarter-deck in the morning, we observed three foreigners, of
different ages, who had under their care a young person of about
sixteen, very handsome indeed, whom we took for a Hanoverian baron
coming to Britain to pay his court at St. James's. The gale
freshened so soon that we had not an opportunity of conversing with
those foreigners, when we were obliged to take to our beds in the
cabin. The young person was the only one of the strangers who had a
berth there, because, as we supposed, it occasioned an additional
freight. My bed was directly opposite to that of the stranger, but
we were so sick that there was no conversation among us till the
young foreigner became very frightened in spite of the sickness, and
called out to me in French, if we were not in danger. The voice
betrayed her sex at once, no less than her fears. I consoled her as
well as I could, and soon brought her above the fear of danger. This
beautiful person was Violetti the dancer, ["She surprised her
audience at her first appearance on the stage; for at her beginning
to caper she showed a neat pair of black velvet breeches, with
roll'd stockings; but finding they were unusual in England she
changed them the next time for a pair of white drawers."—Lord
Stafford in Cathcart Collection.] who was engaged to the opera in
the Haymarket. This we were made certain of by the man, who called
himself her father, waiting on us next day at Harwich, requesting
our countenance to his daughter on her first appearance, and on her
benefit. I accordingly was at the opera the first night she
appeared, where she was the first dancer, and maintained her ground
till Garrick married her.
We had so much
trouble about our baggage that we did not get from Harwich till one
o'clock, and I was obliged to leave Leeson's picture, which I had
undertaken to carry to London for John Wilkes. We passed the night
at Colchester, where the foreigners were likely to be roughly
treated, as the servants at the inn took offence at the young woman
in men's clothes, as one room was only bespoke for all the four. We
interposed, however, when Monckly's authority, backed by us,
prevented their being insulted. They travelled in a separate coach
from us, but we made the young lady dine with us next day, which
secured her good treatment. We were so late in getting to London
that we remained all night together in an inn in Friday Street, and
separated next day, with a promise of seeing one another often ; yet
so great is the city of London, and so busy is everybody kept there,
that, intimate as we had been, it was three weeks or a month before
we met again. We had not yet found out the British Coffeehouse,
where so many of our countrymen assembled daily. [This noted
coffeehouse was so much patronised by Scotsmen that Horace Walpole
notes, when the Duke of Bedford wished to secure support to a motion
in the House of Lords, he wrote to sixteen Scottish peers placing
the letters under one cover addressed to the British Coffeehouse.]
I got a coach, and
went to New Bond Street to my cousin, Captain Lyon's, who had been
married for a few years to Lady Catherine Brydges, a daughter of the
Marquess of Carnarvon, and grandchild of the Duke of Chandos. Lyon's
mother was an acquaintance of the Marchioness, the young lady's
mother of the Dysart family. The Marchioness had fallen in love with
Lyon, who was one of the handsomest men in London, but he escaped by
marrying the daughter, who, though not handsome, was young and
alluring, and had the prospect of a great fortune, as she had only
one sister, who was deformed. Here I renewed my acquaintance with my
aunt Lyon, who was still a fine woman. Her elder sister, Mrs.
Paterson, the widow of a Captain Paterson of the Bannockburn family,
a very plain-looking sensible woman, kept house with her, while the
son and his family lived in the next house, which belonged to Mrs.
Lyon. Lady Catherine had by this time two girls, three and four
years of age, as beautiful children as ever were seen. They had
bespoke for me a small lodging in Little Haddon Street, within sight
of the back of their house. Lyon was a cheerful fine fellow as ever
was born, who had just returned with his troop of the Horse-Guards
from Flanders, where he and they had been for two campaigns under
the Duke of Cumberland. With them and their friends I passed part of
my time; but having found some of my old friends lounging about the
British and Forrest's Coffeehouses, in Cockspur Street, Charing
Cross—viz. John Blair, afterwards a prebendary of Westminster,
Robert Smith, afterwards distinguished by the appellation of the
Duke of Roxburgh's Smith, who introduced me to Dr. Smollett, with
whom he was intimate, and Charles Congalton arriving in a few weeks
from Leyden, who was a stranger as well as myself in London —I was
at no loss how to pass my time agreeably, when Lyon and his family
were engaged in their own circle. [Of John Blair, the chronologist,
some notices will be found in the History of Hinckley (of which he
was vicar) by Nichols, in the sixth volume of the Topographia
Britannica. Robert Smith is probably the same who succeeded Bentley
as Master of Trinity College, Cambridge. He was very eminent in
optics and mathematics, but scarcely anything is now known of him
beyond a scanty notice in Hutton's Mathematical Dictionary.—J. H.
B.]
By Lyon, however, I
was introduced to some families of condition, and was carried to
court of an evening, for George II. at that time had evening
drawing-rooms, where his Majesty and Princess Amelia, who had been a
lovely woman, played at cards, and the courtiers sauntered for an
hour or two. This was a very insipid amusement. I went with Lyon
also and his lady to a ridotta at the Haymarket, a ball where there
were not fewer than fifteen hundred people, and which Robert Keith,
the ambassador, told me, in the entry, was a strong proof of the
greatness and opulence of London, for he had stood in the entry, he
said, and had seen all the ladies come in, and was certain that not
one-half of them were of the Court end of the town, for he knew
every one of them. Lady Catherine Lyon, whom I squired that night,
and with whom I danced, introduced me to many of her acquaintances,
and among the rest to Lady Dalkeith and her sisters, the daughters
of John, Duke of Argyle, who, she said, were her cousins. The
Countess was then with child of Henry, Duke of Buccleuch, [ Henry,
third Duke of Buccleuch and fifth Duke of Queensberry. He succeeded
his grandfather in 1751.] who was born on the 14th of September
thereafter, who was my much respected patron and highly-honoured
friend.
Captain Lyon
introduced me to his friends, the officers of the Horse-Guards, with
whom I lived a good deal. The troop he belonged to, which, I think,
was Lord Tyrawley's, [James, Lord Tyrawley, became Ambassador at
Lisbon, Governor of Port Mahon and Gibraltar, and colonel of a
regiment of Horse-Guards.] was one of the two which had been abroad
in Flanders, between whom and those at home there was a strong
emulation who should entertain most expensively when on guard. Their
parties were generally in the evening, when they had the most
expensive suppers that could be got from a tavern—amongst other
things champagne and ice-creams, both which were new to me, and the
last then rare in London. I had many very agreeable parties with
those officers, who were all men of the world, and some of them of
erudition and understanding. One I must particularly mention was
Captain Elliot, afterwards Lord Heathfield, [Second son of Sir
Gilbert Elliot, third baronet of Stobs, Roxburghshire.] the
celebrated defender of Gibraltar. A parcel of us happened to meet in
the Park in a fine evening in April, who, on asking each other how
they were engaged, seven or eight of us agreed to sup at the
Cardigan at Charing Cross, among whom Elliot was one. Lyon and I
undertook to go directly to the house and bespeak a room, and were
soon joined by our company and two or three more of their friends,
whom they had met in their walk. WVe passed the evening very
pleasantly, and when the bill was called for, a Mr. Philips, who was
in the chair, and who, by the death of a relation that morning, had
succeeded to an estate of £z000 a-year, wished to pay the whole
reckoning, which he said was a trifle. This was resisted. He then
said he would play odds or evens with all the company in their
turns, whether he or they should pay. This was agreed to, and he
contrived to lose to everybody except Captain Elliot, who said he
never played for his reckoning. I observed on this afterwards to
Lyon that this appeared particular, and that Elliot, though by his
conversation a very sensible man, yet did not yield to the humour of
the company, which was to gratify Philips. He answered me, that
though Captain Elliot was somewhat singular and austere in his
manners, yet he was a very worthy and able officer, for whom he had
great esteem. This trait of singularity occurred to me when he
became so distinguished an officer, whom I should rather have noted
as sour and untractable.
John Blair had passed
his trials as a preacher in Scotland, but having a few hundred
pounds of patrimony, chose to pay a visit to London, where he
loitered till he spent it all. After some time he thought of
completing and publishing his Chronological Tables, the plan of
which had been given him by Dr. Hugh Blair, the celebrated preacher.
He became acquainted with the Bishop of Lincoln, with whom he was
soon a favourite, and having been ordained by him, was presented to
the living of Burton Cogles, in his diocese. He was afterwards
teacher of mathematics to the Duke of York, the King's brother, and
was by his interest preferred to be a prebendary of Westminster. He
was a lively agreeable fellow, and one of the most friendly men in
the world. Smith had been abroad with the young Laird of M'Leod of
that period, and was called home with his pupil when the Rebellion
began. He had been ill rewarded, and was on his shifts in London. He
was a man of superior understanding, and of a most gentlemanly
address. With Smollett he was very intimate. We four, with one or
two more, frequently resorted to a small tavern in the corner of
Cockspur Street at the Golden Ball, where we had a frugal supper and
a little punch, as the finances of none of the company were in very
good order. But we had rich enough conversation on literary
subjects, which was enlivened by Smollett's agreeable stories, which
he told with peculiar grace.
Soon after our
acquaintance, Smollett showed me his tragedy of James r. of
Scotland, which he never could bring on the stage. For this the
managers could not be blamed, though it soured him against them, and
he appealed to the public by printing it; but the public seemed to
take part with the managers.
I was in the
coffeehouse with Smollett when the news of the battle of Culloden
arrived, and when London all over was in a perfect uproar of joy. It
was then that Jack Stuart, the son of the Provost, [Lord Provost of
Edinburgh when Prince Charlie took possession of the city.] behaved
in the manner I before mentioned. About 9 o'clock I wished to go
home to Lyon's, in New Bond Street, as I had promised to sup with
him that night, it being the anniversary of his marriage night, or
the birthday of one of his children. I asked Smollett if he was
ready to go, as he lived at Mayfair; he said he was, and would
conduct me. The mob were so riotous, and the squibs so numerous and
incessant that we were glad to go into a narrow entry to put our
wigs in our pockets, and to take our swords from our belts and walk
with them in our hands, as everybody then wore swords ; and, after
cautioning me against speaking a word, lest the mob should discover
my country and become insolent, "for John Bull," says he, "is as
haughty and valiant to-night as he was abject and cowardly on the
Black Wednesday when the Highlanders were at Derby." After we got to
the head of the Haymarket through incessant fire, the Doctor led me
by narrow lanes, where we met nobody but a few boys at a pitiful
bonfire, who very civilly asked us for sixpence, which I gave them.
I saw not Smollett again for some time after, when he showed Smith
and me the manuscript of his Teat's of Scotland, which was published
not long after, and had such a run of approbation. Smollett, though
a Tory, was not a Jacobite, but he had the feelings of a Scotch
gentleman on the reported cruelties that were said to be exercised
after the battle of Culloden.
My cousin Lyon was an
Englishman born, though of Scottish parents, and an officer in the
Guards, and perfectly loyal, and yet even he did not seem to rejoice
so cordially at the victory as I expected. "What's the matter?" says
I; "has your Strathmore blood got up, that you are not pleased with
the quelling of the Rebellion?" "God knows," said he, "I heartily
rejoice that it is quelled; but I'm sorry that it has been
accomplished by the Duke of C----, for if he was before the most
insolent of all commanders, what will he be now?" I afterwards found
that this sentiment prevailed more than I had imagined; and yet,
though no general, he had certainly more parts and talents than any
of the family.
I was witness to a
scene in the British Coffeehouse, which was afterwards explained to
me. Captain David Cheap, who was on Anson's voyage, and had been
wrecked on the coast of Chili, and was detained there for some time
by the Spaniards, had arrived in London, and frequented this
coffeehouse. Being a man of sense and knowledge, he was employed by
Lord Anson to look out for a proper person to write his voyage, the
chaplain, whose journal furnished the chief materials, being unequal
to the task. Captain Cheap had a predilection for his countrymen,
and having heard of Guthrie, the writer of the Westminster Journal,
etc., he had come down to the coffeehouse that evening to inquire
about him, and, if he was pleased with what he heard, would have him
introduced. Not long after Cheap had sat down and called for coffee,
Guthrie arrived, dressed in laced clothes, and talking loud to
everybody, and soon fell a-wrangling with a gentleman about tragedy
and comedy and the unities, etc., and laid down the law of the drama
in a peremptory manner, supporting his arguments with cursing and
swearing. I saw he [Cheap] was astonished, when rising and going to
the bar, he asked who this was, and finding it was Guthrie, whom he
had come down to inquire about, he paid his coffee and slunk off in
silence. I knew him well afterwards, and asked him one day if he
remembered the incident. He told me that it was true that he came
there with the design of talking with Guthrie, on the subject of the
voyage, but was so much disgusted with his vapouring manner that he
thought no more of him. [Of William Guthrie, whose name is on the
title-pages of many voluminous works, one of which, the Geographical
Grammar, had great celebrity and a vast circulation, various notices
will be found in D'Israeli's Calamities of Authors and Boswell's
Johnson. The account of Anson's voyage, so well esteemed in its own
day, and so well worth reading in the present, both from the
interesting character of the events and the admirable way in which
they are told, professes to have been compiled from Anson's own
papers by Richard WValter, surgeon of the Centurion, one of the
vessels in the expedition. It is believed, however, that the work
was edited, if not almost rewritten, by Benjamin Robins, the
mathematician. William Davis, in his Obio, or Bibliographical and
Literary Anecdotes and Memoranda, says: "Walter's manuscript, which
was at first intended to have been printed, being little more than a
transcript from the ship's journals, Mr. Robins was recommended as a
proper person to revise it; and it was then determined that the
whole should be written by him, the transcripts of the journals
serving as materials only; and that, with the Introduction and many
dissertations in the body of the book, of which not the least hint
had been given by Walter, he extended the account, in his own
peculiar style and manner, to nearly twice its original size." Davis
prints a letter from Lord Anson, tending to confirm his
statement.J.H.B.]
I met Captain Cheap
in Scotland two years after this, when he came to visit his
relations. I met him often at his half-brother's, George Cheap,
Collector of Customs, at Prestonpans, and in summer at goat-whey
quarters, where I lived with him for three weeks, and became very
confidential with him. He had a sound and sagacious understanding
and an intrepid mind, and had great injustice done to him in Byron's
Narrative, which Major Hamilton, [Of the 8th Dragoons, from which he
retired in 1762. He built a house at Musselburgh which he called
Olivebank, the site of which is now occupied by the North British
Railway.] who was one of the unfortunate people in the Wager, told
me was in many things false or exaggerated. [The book here referred
to, written by the poet's grandfather, and cited in Don Juan as "My
grandad's Narrative," was very popular. Its title is "The Narrative
of the Honourable John Byron (commander in a late expedition round
the world) ; containing an account of the great distresses suffered
by himself and his companions on the coast of Patagonia, from the
year i 740 till their arrival in England in 1746; with a description
of St. Jago de Chili, and the manners and customs of the
inhabitants. Also a relation of the loss of the Wager man-of-war,
one of Lord Anson's squadron," 1768.—J. H, B.] One instance I
remember, which is this, that Cheap was so selfish that he had
concealed four pounds of seal in the lining of his coat to abstract
from the company for his own use. He, no doubt, had the piece of
seal, and Captain Hamilton saw him secrete it; but when they had got
clear of a cazique, who plundered them of all he could, the captain
producing his seal, said to his companions, "That devil wanted to
reduce me to his own terms by famine, but I out plotted him; for
with this piece of seal we could have held out twenty-four hours
longer." Another trait of his character Captain Hamilton told me,
which was,—that when they arrived in Chili, to the number of eleven,
who had adhered to Cheap, and who were truly, for hunger and
nakedness, worse than the lowest beggars, and were delighted with
the arrival of a Spanish officer from the governor, who presented
Cheap with a petition, which he said he behoved to sign, otherwise
they could not be taken under the protection of the Spanish
governor; Cheap, having glanced this paper with his eye, and
throwing it indignantly on the ground, said sternly to the officer
that he would not sign such a paper, for the officers of the King of
England could die of hunger, but they disdained to beg. Hamilton and
Byron and all the people fell into despair, for they believed that
the captain was gone mad, and that they were all undone. But it had
a quite contrary effect, for the officer now treated him with
unbounded respect, and, going hastily to the governor, returned
immediately with a blank sheet of paper, and desired Captain Cheap
to dictate or write his request in his own way.
Hamilton added that
Byron and he being then very young, about sixteen or seventeen, they
frequently thought they were ruined by the captain's behaviour,
which was often mysterious, and always arrogant and high; but that
yet in the sequel they found that he had always acted under the
guidance of a sagacious foresight. This was marking him as a
character truly fit for command, which was the conclusion I drew
from my intercourse with him in Scotland. On my inquiring at
Hamilton what had made Byron so severe, he said he believed it was
that the captain one day had called him "puppy" when he was
petulant, and feeling himself in the wrong, he endeavoured to make
up with Byron by greater civility, which the other rejecting, Cheap
kept him at a greater distance. He entirely cleared Cheap from any
blame for shooting Cozens, into which he was led by unavoidable
circumstances, and which completely re-established his authority.
As I had seen the
Chevalier Prince Charles frequently in Scotland, I was appealed to
if a print that was selling in all the shops was not like him. My
answer was, that it had not the least resemblance. Having been taken
one night, however, to a meeting of the Royal Society by Microscope
Baker, there was introduced a Hanoverian baron, whose likeness was
so strong to the print which passed for the young Pretender, that I
had no doubt that, he being a stranger, the print sellers had got
him sketched out, that they might make something of it before his
vera effigies could be had. Experiments in electricity were then but
new in England, and I saw them well exhibited at Baker's, whose
wife, by the by, was a daughter of the celebrated Daniel Defoe.
I dined frequently
with a club of officers, mostly Scotch, at a coffeehouse at Church
Court in the Strand, where Charles Congalton lodged, and who
introduced me to the club, many of whom were old acquaintances, such
as Captain Henry Fletcher, Boyd Porterfield, and sundry more who had
been spared at the fatal battle of Fontenoy. We had an excellent
dinner at 10d. I thought as good as those in Holland at a guilder.
The company, however, were so much pleased that they voluntarily
raised it to 1s. 6d., and they were right, for as they generally
went to the play at six o'clock, the advance of the ordinary left
them at liberty to forsake the bottle early.
The theatres were not
very attractive this season, as Garrick had gone over to Dublin;
there still remained, however, what was enough for a stranger—Mrs.
Pritchard, and Mrs. Clive, and Macklin, who were all excellent in
their way. But I had seen Hughes and Mrs. Hamilton in Edinburgh, and
whether or not it might be owing to the force of first impressions,
I then thought that they were not surpassed by those I saw in
London.
Of the literary
people I met with at this time in London, I must not forget Thomson
the poet and Dr. Armstrong. [Armstrong belonged to Castleton,
Roxburghshire. He was a poet and essayist as well as a physician, in
which profession he attributed his limited success to the fact that
" he could neither tell a heap of lies in his own praise wherever he
went; nor intrigue with nurses, much less assimilate with the
various knots of pert insipid, lively stupid, well-bred impertinent,
good-humoured malicious, obliging deceitful, waspy drivelling
gossips; nor enter into juntos with people who were not to his
liking."--Armstrong's Medical Essays.] Dickson had come to London
from Leyden with his degree of M.D., and had been introduced to
Armstrong, who was his countryman. A party was formed at the Ducie
Tavern at Temple Bar, where the company were Armstrong, Dickson, and
Andrew Millar, with Murdoch his friend. [As to Dickson, see further
on, p. 215. The Reverend Patrick Murdoch was the author of several
scientific works, and of memoirs of M'Laurin the mathematician and
Thomson the poet, to whom he is said to have sat for the portrait of
the "little, fat, round, oily man of God" in the Castle of
Indolence, who "had a roguish twinkle in his eye, and shone all
glittering with ungodly dew." —J.H.B.] Thomson came at last, and
disappointed me both by his appearance and conversation. Armstrong
bore him down, having got into his sarcastical vein by the wine he
had drunk before Thomson joined us.
At that particular
time strangers were excluded from the House of Commons, and I had
not then a strong curiosity for that kind of entertainment. I saw
all the sights as usual for strangers in London, and having procured
a small pamphlet which described the public buildings with taste and
discernment, I visited them with that in my hand. On Sundays I went
with Lyon and his family to St. George's Church in Hanover Square.
Sometimes I went to St. James's Church to hear Dr. Secker, [Dr.
Secker became Archbishop of Canterbury and baptized George IV. "As
he began life a dissenter," writes Mrs. Montague, "anxious
churchwomen thought that the Archbishop's christening George, Prince
of Wales, would not make a Christian of him. And it cannot be said
that it did."—Doran's Lady of the Last Century.] who was the rector
of that parish and a fine preacher. I was twice at the opera, which
seemed so very far from real life and so unnatural that I was
pleased with nothing but the dancing, which was exquisite,
especially that of Violetti. |
