CHAPTER VIII

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STRAY LEAVES FROM THE INDIAN WEED.

The pungent, nose-refreshing weed, Which, whether pulverised, it gain A speedy passage to the brain, Or, whether touched with fire, it rise In circling eddies to the skies, Does thought more quicken and refine Than all the breath of all the nine.

COWPER.

How dearly the late Poet Laureate, Tennyson, treasured his briar-root; how with his ‘silent friend’ he would seek seclusion, drawing unfailing solace from an inexhaustible tobacco jar, belongs to the social history of our times. In the fulness of their hearts, lovers of the weed have declared that in it they have found ‘the only thing in life that fumes without fretting.’ If to this excellence be added the further one of assuaging the fretful, we shall have the whole philosophy of smoking in a nutshell. Because of these rare virtues paterfamilias will now and then forego the social distinction of occupying the paternal chair that he may enjoy the comforts of a quiet pipe away from all the blessed cherubs of domesticity. For these, the idolised bachelor, weary of loving attentions (the ungrateful being!) will watch his opportunity for flight, and slipping away unseen, will make off to his favourite hiding-place. Briskly entering his den he surveys with twinkling eye his own undisputed domain, with pipe-rack and weeds, benches and books, rifle and rod, all in undisturbed (dis)order. Tenderly he handles his favourite calumet, bestows the pabulum of peace, and awaits the sweet solace which will soon dispel the worries and passions born of strife in life’s warfare.

Many an over-wrought brain has thus received the balm that stays the rash hand or the fevered spirit from hurrying to a reckless end. Surely no one need wonder at the smoker’s devotion to his pipe, nor be so uncharitable as to class his troubles and trials and their happy deliverance with the mere fancies of a lazy man in search of excuse for an idle habit. Let us not be hard on the smoker. Do we not all know men who would fain indulge in a social whiff now and then with their friends were it not for the warnings of an inward monitor who will not be trifled with? The man who had conquered Europe was himself conquered by a pipe of tobacco. An oriental pipe of wonderful beauty and inventive skill was presented to Napoleon by a Persian ambassador. Though he was an immoderate snuff-taker he had never smoked, but he would try this pipe. It was duly charged with tobacco and lighted, says Constant, but His Majesty, instead of drawing up the smoke in the usual way, merely opened and shut his mouth with mechanical regularity. Losing patience, he exclaimed, ‘Devils! There is no result!’ It was remarked that he had made the attempt badly, and he was shown how to smoke properly. But the Emperor simply reverted to his automatic performance; the pipe went out, and Constant was desired to relight it. This done, he again instructed his master in the proper method of smoking. Determined not to be balked again, the Emperor resolutely drew up the smoke, and, swallowing it, it came out by his nostrils and blinded him. As soon as he recovered breath he cried out, ‘Away with it! Oh, the hog! Oh, my stomach! My stomach turns!’ This was Napoleon’s first and last experience of smoking. Then let those whom St Nicotine favours thankfully own her benign sway and be comforted. The placid oriental, when his wives rave, or affliction smites him, will stroke his beard—if he have one—and thank Allah for the good gift

Which on the Moslem’s ottoman divides, His hours, and rivals opium and his brides.

An old Persian legend, brought to light by Lieutenant Walpole, tells the story of a virtuous youth distraught at the loss of a loving wife. A holy man looks tenderly upon the disconsolate one, and tells him of a balm for his affliction. ‘Go to thy wife’s tomb, son of sorrow,’ says the anchorite, ‘and there thou wilt find a weed. Pluck it, place it in a reed, and put fire to it, then inhale the smoke thereof. This will be to thee wife and mother, father and brother, and, above all, will be a wise counsellor, and teach thy soul wisdom and thy spirit joy.’ The Homeric strain of this Eastern sage breathes of implicit faith in his native Shiraz tobacco. For doubtless he, a dweller in

… the land where the cypress and myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime; Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Now melts into sorrow, now maddens to crime,

had often experienced its influence on a wounded heart. Indeed, the history and associations of the plant, from its wild Indian home to the remotest East, are full of romance of more than ordinary interest. For, like most things transatlantic, whether products of the soil or of the brain, it rapidly became universal, spreading literally like wild-fire wherever man was to be found. Everywhere it was esteemed a close comfort, a priceless possession, and to its rare qualities were ascribed almost miraculous powers. The persistency with which men have stuck to the weed, after once experiencing its soothing effects, ranks among the most remarkable examples history affords of the rapid development of a new taste and the formation of a new habit; a habit that, after the lapse of three centuries and more, grows stronger day by day, keeping full pace with the increase of population, until now it is too deeply rooted ever to be extirpated, even by taxation, however weighty. Viewed in its political aspect, the career of the Indian weed presents a striking illustration of popular opinion ultimately triumphing over prejudice and power.

Here let us take a cursory glance back to the heroic age when the marvellous weed which has almost revolutionised men’s habits all over the world, and created a new industry giving employment to millions of human beings, was first imported into these islands.

A halo of romance surrounds those jubilant days; but, in the eyes of Englishmen generally, Sir Walter Raleigh stands out prominently as the hero to whom the honour is due of giving his countrymen their first instalment of tobacco. England had just awakened to the reality of a new world of wonders and boundless wealth lying unexplored in the far West; a land where everything touched turned to gold. The far-famed discoveries and conquests of the Spaniards, their fabled El Dorado, drew forth the daring and enterprising from every corner of Europe. Stirred by an overpowering desire to see the marvels, and share in the treasures of the _terra incognita_ which was in all men’s mouths, our hardy sea captains, Hawkins, Drake, Raleigh, and a host more of England’s sturdy sons, sailed the Spanish main, bent upon achieving fame or fortune, yet caring little what lot befell them if only renown were won for their idolised Queen Bess. They encountered the mild Indian, and explored a portion of his glorious land, teeming with a rich luxuriance of vegetation such as their eyes had never before beheld. But what of El Dorado, the famed city of gold and precious stones, hemmed in by golden mountains, whose splendour and immense treasure beckoned them onward? Alas! the gorgeous phantasm of the New World, like the glories of the setting sun, melted away before their advancing steps. And yet many a poor, dispirited wayfarer in the pursuit of the alluring _ignis fatuus_ found comfort and consolation in the humble weed which the natives supplied to him and taught him how to use. In testimony whereof, listen to honest Jack Brimblecombe in _Westward Ho!_ ‘Heaven forgive me! but when I get the leaf between my teeth, I feel tempted to sit as still as a chimney and smoke to my dying day.’ And faithful old Yeo pours forth his pent-up gratitude for the comfort he derives from the Indians’ herb in a stream of consolation for the lonely and afflicted, assuring us that when all things were made none was made better than this. And here he enumerates the blessing breathed upon the weary and worn traveller in those far-off lands by the herb, like unto which there is not another under the canopy of heaven.

In the summer of 1584, Raleigh, his imagination aglow with brilliant colonisation schemes which should eclipse those of Spain, sent out an expedition to explore the coast of the new continent. On July 13, the party, under Captains Amadas and Barlowe, took possession of the territory which Raleigh subsequently named Virginia, in honour of the Queen. In the following year a second expedition was despatched, conveying one hundred and seven souls, whom, with Master Ralph Lane at their head as the governor of the new colony, Raleigh had inspired with his own ardent hopes and plans for the founding of a new settlement that should, in course of time, rival the Spanish conquests. The adventure, however, was not attended with the success anticipated. The party remained in the new territory from August 17, 1585, to June 18, 1586, when Sir Francis Drake, with his fleet, returning along the coast from his victorious raid in the West Indies, called at their port, and, learning their discontent, brought them back to England. They took care, however, not to return empty-handed; a large quantity of tobacco, which the natives had prepared for them, was stowed on board the vessels, with a variety of instruments for preparing and using it. It can well be imagined that Master Lane would take pride in exhibiting himself to London’s gazing multitude smothered in Indian clouds. The learned Camden speaks of Lane as the original English smoker. It is remarkable that there should have been so much uncertainty, even in Eliza-Jacobean times, as to the date when tobacco was first received in this country and the person by whom it was first introduced. The painstaking annalist, Stow, says that tobacco came into England about the twentieth year of Queen Elizabeth (1577). But Aubrey, speaking of Sir Walter Raleigh, says that ‘he was the first that brought tobacco into England and into fashion (1686). In our part of North Wilts—_e.g._ Malmesbury Hundred—it came first into fashion by Sir Walter Long. They had first silver pipes. The ordinary sort made use of a walnut shell and a straw. I have heard my grandfather, Lyle, say that one pipe was handed from man to man round the table. Sir Walter Raleigh, standing in a stand at Sir Ro. Poyntz parke at Acton, took a pipe of tobacco, which made the ladies quitte it till he had donne.’ The author of a gossipy _Tour in Wales_ (Pennant), in 1810, speaking about the great houses and their associations, says that Captain Price, of Plasyollin, with Captains Myddelton and Koet, on their return from the Azores in 1591, ‘were the first who had smoked or (as they called it) drank tobacco publicly in London, and that the Londoners flocked from all parts to see them. Pipes were not then invented, so they used the twisted leaves, or segars. The invention is usually ascribed to Sir Walter Raleigh. It may be so, but he was too good a courtier to smoke in public, especially in the reign of James.’ Again, in the 1659 translation of Dr. Everard’s _Panacea_ (Antwerp, 1587), it is remarked that ‘Captain Richard Grenfield and Sir Francis Drake were the first planters of it here (England), and not Sir Walter Raleigh, which is the common error; so difficult is it to fix popular discoveries.’ These few selections show us how easily origins are lost sight of.

It seems ungracious to pluck a plume from one so eminently distinguished for important services rendered to his Queen and country as Sir Walter Raleigh; yet nothing in history is more certain than that the common belief crediting him with the first introduction of tobacco into this country is a myth. History, whilst awarding him the palm for potatoes, points to Sir John Hawkins as the first to bring to his countrymen the peaceful pleasures of the pipe. Certainly, the weight of probabilities are in his favour. Taylor, the Water Poet, says: ‘Tobacco was first brought into England in 1565, by Sir John Hawkins.’ And Edmund Howes, in his continuation of Stow’s _Annals_ says: ‘Tobacco was first brought and made known by Sir John Hawkins about the year 1565, but not used by Englishmen for many years after, though at this day it is commonly used by most men and many women.’ These accounts correspond with Hawkins’s second voyage, viz., October 18, 1564, returning September 20, 1565. Confirmatory evidence comes from John Sparkes, the younger, who, in his account of this voyage, says that Hawkins, ranging along the ‘coast of Florida for fresh water, in July 1565, came upon the French settlement there under Landoniere, where the natives, when they travel, have a kind of herbe dryed, which with a cane and an earthen cup in the end, with fire and the dryed herbe put together, they do suck through the cane the smoke thereof, which smoke satisfieth their hunger, and therewith they live four or five days without meat or drink, and this all the Frenchmen used for the purpose.’ Hearing these wonderful stories told of the Indian’s herbe, nothing could be more natural than that Hawkins should make trial of it for himself, and, liking it, secure specimens of the plant for cultivation and use at home. To see and hear and get all he could, was the sole end and aim of his ploughing the Spanish main. Bearing in mind that he got back to England in September 1565, we see that the statements of Taylor, the Water Poet, and Howes, the annalist, that tobacco was brought by Sir John Hawkins in 1565, are consistent and reliable. Collateral evidence on the point is to be found in L’Obel’s work on Botany,[6] written in 1570, wherein he says: ‘Within these few years the West Indian tobacco-plant has become an inmate of England.’ This of itself is conclusive against the Raleigh theory. But let us look a little further into the matter. In 1570, Raleigh was a youth of eighteen, and had just gone to France to fight in the Huguenot cause. Again, in the State Archives, there is still extant an edict issued by Queen Elizabeth against the use and abuse of tobacco, dated 1584—the year Raleigh’s first expedition sailed to the New World.

It is amusing to find Queen Elizabeth fulminating against the pipe she afterwards so willingly countenanced in the mouth of her favourite knight. But then Sir Walter was in every way a splendid man, the typical gallant and hero in England’s heroic age. Tall, dark, handsome, a noble brow, commanding voice and mien, he drew to his side willing hands ready to do his behest, be it what it might. A gay courtier, his dress was of the richest, and priceless gems sparkled on every finger. And so it came about that his proud Queen would quietly sit by his side, would playfully call him Walter, and listen to his tales of daring deeds and sufferings endured all for Good Queen Bess. And had he not won for her a new land full of rich promise, which, for her sake, was named Virginia? And thus they would talk on, Sir Walter smoking his finely-wrought silver pipe in peace, forgetful of the fair, if frail, Maid of Honour, Bessy Throgmorton, listening, maybe, behind the arras. Alas! poor mortal man. The untoward affair at last broke upon Elizabeth like a thunderstorm in a serene sky, and our gallant hero became an outcast from the favour of his Queen.[7]

Among the many anecdotes told of Raleigh’s practices with his pipe may be mentioned that of his outwitting the Queen in a wager she laid with the gallant knight respecting the weight of the smoke which exhaled from a pipeful of tobacco. ‘I can assure your Majesty,’ said Raleigh, ‘that I have so well experienced the nature of it that I can exactly tell even the weight of the smoke in any quantity I consume.’ ‘I doubt it much, Sir Walter,’ replied Elizabeth, thinking only how impossible it must be to catch the smoke and put it in a balance, ‘and will wager you twenty angels that you do not solve my doubt.’ Whereupon Raleigh drew forth a quantity of the weed, placed it in finely adjusted scales, and having ascertained its weight, commenced to smoke it, carefully preserving the ashes. These at the finish he weighed with great exactness. Then would it dawn upon her Majesty how the wager was to end. ‘Your Majesty,’ said Raleigh, ‘cannot deny that the difference hath evaporated in smoke.’ ‘Truly, I cannot,’ was her reply. Then, turning to those around her, who were eying with amusement this curious play on the pipe, she continued, ‘Many labourers in the fire have I heard of (alluding to alchemists) who turned their gold into smoke, but Sir Walter is the first who has turned smoke into gold.’

But the Indian weed had a hard fight to hold its ground in Europe and Asia in face of the most resolute opposition from potentates, statesmen, and priests. In England

The gentleman called King James In quilted doublet and great trunk breeches, Who held in abhorrence tobacco and witches,[8]

signalised himself and his reign by profound learning and ponderous invective hurled against the innocent plant, amongst whose alluring leaves there lurked the ‘lively image and pattern of hell.’ His _Counterblaste_ to tobacco[9] is of itself an historic monument to his genius, which posterity does well to preserve that there may be something in hand to attest the just appreciation of his ‘loving subjects’ in early recognising in him a Solomon! Though, to be sure, some will have it that the irreverent Henri Quatre was the first to see the fitness of the designation, Solomon, for the son of Mary, Queen of Scots. And yet his astute minister, the Duc de Sully, professed to have discovered in the flickering illuminations of this northern light ‘the wisest fool in Christendom.’ Historians who think it incumbent upon them to explain every human phenomenon or prodigy, have perplexed themselves with vain endeavours to unravel this curious compound of Machiavellian craft, fussy self-conceit and imbecility. Looking to his preternatural insight into the uncanny domain of the Black Arts, his mental conflicts with the de’il, witches and warlocks, and long nebbit things, the problem his character presents might perhaps form a fitting study for the modern school of psychology.

With the beginning of the seventeenth century commenced a literary warfare over the virtues and vices of St Nicotine, which lasted intermittently down to the present day. Mr. Solly, of St. Thomas’s Hospital, in the middle of last century strove valiantly in the columns of the _Lancet_ to get up a crusade against smoking. All the leading members of the medical profession took part in the affray; irrefragable statistics were piled up one upon the other as ramparts from behind which Mr. Solly proclaimed that there was death in the pipe; and the rapid degeneracy of the human race, to him everywhere apparent, was to be regarded as the inevitable consequence of indulgence in the pernicious weed. Had Mr. Solly referred to the text-book left by the royal founder of his faith, he would have learned the right use and value of trenchant utterance, and as a physiologist, would have gained knowledge never imparted in St. Thomas’s Hospital.

[Illustration: DUC DE SULLY]

The royal _Counterblaste_ proclaims that ‘smoke becomes a kitchen far better than a dining-chamber; and yet it makes a kitchen oftentimes in the inward parts of men, soyling and infecting with an unctuous and oyly kind of soote, as hath been found in some great tobacco takers, that after death were opened.’ ‘Have you not reason then to be ashamed and to forbear this filthie noveltie, so basely grounded, so foolishly received, and so grossly mistaken in the right use thereof? In your abuse thereof sinning against God, harming yourselves both in person and in goods, and raking also thereby the marks and notes of vanitie upon you; by the custom thereof making yourselves to be wondered at by all forraine civil nations, and all strangers that come among you, to be scorned and contemned.’ King James clinches his argument with a logical acumen there is no resisting. ‘Why,’ he asks, ‘since we imitate the beastly and slavish Indians in taking tobacco, do we not imitate them in _walking naked_? as they do’—an extraordinary idea to occur to one accustomed to wear dagger-proof quilted dress—‘preferring glass beads and feathers to gold and precious stones? as they do; yea, why do we not deny God and adore the devil? as they do.’ Then comes his famous climax: ‘A custom loathsome to the eye, hateful to the nose, harmful to the orgain (brain), dangerous to the lungs, and in the black stinking fume thereof nearest resembling the horrible Stygian smoke of the pit that is bottomless.’ If, after this display of royal indignation, stiff-necked ones still cast fond looks at the ‘emblem of hell,’ let them turn their attention to the King’s words of wisdom stored up in a _Collection of Witty Apothegms_. Things that before were obscure to mental vision are here illuminated with a new radiance; it is made clear to us that ‘tobacco was the lively image and pattern of hell, for that it had, by illusion, in it all the parts and vices of the world whereby hell may be gained—to wit, first: It is a smoke; so are the vanities of this world. Secondly: It delighteth them that take it; so do the pleasures of the world delight the men of the world. Thirdly: It maketh men drunken and light in the head; so do the vanities of the world, men are drunken wherewith. Fourthly: He that taketh tobacco saith he cannot leave it, _it doth bewitch him!_… And, further, besides all this, it is like hell in the very substance of it, for it is a stinking, loathsome thing, and so is hell.’ But James had his moments of gaiety; he could jest over the arch enemy, and it would be most unfair to his memory to pass by any playful attempt at jocularity that for an instant flickered over his dreary brain. In the treasury of wisdom already mentioned, we are told that his Majesty once remarked that ‘if he were to invite the devil to dinner he should have three dishes: 1. A pig; 2. A pole of ling and mustard; and (3) a pipe of tobacco for digesture.’

There is a passage in the _Counterblaste_ which seems to point directly to Raleigh; it runs as follows: ‘Now the corrupt baseness of the use of this tobacco doeth very well agree with the foolish and groundless first entry thereof into this kingdom. It is not so long since the first entry of this abuse amongst us here, as this present age can very well remember both the first author and the form of the first introduction of it amongst us. It was neither brought in by king, great conqueror, nor learned doctor of physick. With the report of a great discovery for a conquest, some two or three savage men were brought in, together with this savage custom. But the pity is, the poor, wild, barbarous men died; but that vile, barbarous custom is yet alive, yea, in fresh vigour, so as it seems a miracle to me how a custom springing from so vile a ground, and brought in by a father so generally hated, should be welcomed on so slender a warrant.’ The mention of ‘two or three savage men’ clearly indicates the return of Raleigh’s first expedition in 1584, when Captain Amadas and Barlowe brought with them two American Indians, whose appearance in the streets was regarded as one of the sights of London. James’s inveterate enmity towards Raleigh would seem to have originated at their first encounter at Burghly, in Lincolnshire, when the King faltered out: ‘On my soul, mon, I hae heard but rawley o’ thee,’ a clumsy attempt at a pun. Doubtless Raleigh’s noble bearing and rich attire would touch James’s inordinate self-importance, which seems to have at all times blinded him to a proper sense of decency, according to Sir Anthony Weldon’s simple, graphic presentation of him. On the King boasting that, had the English crown not been offered to him, his Scotch army would have taken it for him, Raleigh, indignant, made the injudicious remark: ‘Would God that had been put to the test.’ ‘Why?’ asked James. Raleigh recovering himself replied, ‘Your Majesty would then have known your friends from your foes.’ Aubrey says that James never forgave this speech. One by one, Raleigh was stripped of all his offices; and before the end of the first year of James’s reign (November 4, 1603) he was lodged in the Tower on a false charge of treason, and after fifteen years’ imprisonment was judicially murdered by order of the King. Speaking of this event, Sir Anthony Weldom remarks, ‘How this kingdom was gulled in the supposed treason of Sir Walter Rawley and others who suffered as traytors, whereas to this day it could never be knowne that there ever was such treason, but a mere trick of State to remove some blotches out of the way.’ When Raleigh’s fate drew nigh, ‘he took a pipe of tobacco a little before he went to the scaffolde,’ says Aubrey, ‘which some female persons were scandalised at; but I think ’twas well and properly donne to settle his spirits.’

Speaking of this noble victim of James I., Sir Walter Besant, in his handsome volume on _Westminster_, says, ‘Raleigh was brought to Old Palauce Yard to die. The day chosen for his execution was Lord Mayor’s Day, so that the crowd should be drawn to the pageant rather than to his execution.’ The body lies buried in the chancel of St. Margaret’s Church, Westminster, where, near by, a tablet informs the visitor that

Within the walls of this church was deposited the body of the great Sir Walter Raleigh, Knt., on the day he was beheaded in Old Palace Yard, Westminster, 29 October, Ann. Dom. 1618.

Reader, should you reflect on his errors, Remember his many virtues, And that he was a mortal.

Considering the deep sympathy the nation has always evinced for the ill-fated yet illustrious knight, it is almost incredible that no monument has ever been erected to his memory. Raleigh was truly great in all those things which mankind loves to honour and perpetuate. In him patriotism, valour, and magnanimity stand out conspicuously in an age of heroes. Though endowed with a glowing, wildly-romantic imagination, he has left in his various writings evidence of extensive reading, keen insight, and sound judgment. The improvements he effected in naval architecture alone entitle him to the lasting gratitude of his country. The concluding lines of his _History of the World_ written when the death sentence had been passed upon him and all his hopes of life had fled, are considered to be the finest and grandest example of prose in the English language. That Raleigh would not surrender his natural nobility of character to flatter the most abject monarch[10] that ever sat on the throne is to his everlasting honour, and marks him as a typical Englishman.

Through the medium of the notorious Star Chamber, the King, in 1614, directed his efforts ostensibly to restrain the consumption of tobacco; in effect, to put an end to the infant colony of Virginia. For this purpose a bill was drawn up, addressed to ‘Our Right Trustie and right well beloved Cousin and Counsellor, Thomas, Earle of Dorset, our High Treasurer of Englande, Greeting.’ Then follows a rather perplexing, verbose preamble, the drift of which seems to be the hatching up of excuses for heaping upon tobacco a monstrous load of taxation for the avowed purpose of relieving ‘many mean persons’ of the heavy expense the habit of smoking entailed.

He tells his ‘loving subjects’ that smoking is an ‘evil vanitie, whereby the health of a great number of people is impayered, and their bodies weakened and made unfit for labour, and the estates of many mean persons so decayed and consumed, as they are thereby driven to unthriftie shiftes onley to maintain their gluttonous exercise thereof.’ After further admonition and warning of evils in store for the obdurate, the Act proceeds: ‘We do therefore will and command you, our Treasurer of Englande, and herebye also warrant and authorise you to give orders to all Customers, Comptrollers, Searchers, Surveyors and other officers of our Portes, that from and after the six-and-twentieth Day of October next comynge, they shall demand and take to our use, etc., etc., the sum of Sixe shillings and 8d. upon every pound weight thereof, over and above the custome of 2d. upon the pound weight usually paid heretofore.’ The penalties for evading payment were, forfeiture of cargo, ‘and such further Penalties and coporal punishments as the qualitie of suche so high a Contempt against Our Royal and Expresse Commandmente in this manner published shall deserve.’

The imposition, equivalent to about thirty shillings of our present money, had a startling effect on the tobacco trade of the country; but when merchants found out that it was meant to apply only to the tobacco imported from Virginia, they naturally had recourse to other markets, as Spain and Portugal, whence it was brought in at the old rate of twopence on the pound that had satisfied Elizabeth. Agriculturists, too, saw in the change an opportunity for extending the home cultivation and manufacture of tobacco, and readily availed themselves of it,

## particularly in Yorkshire, where all the operations connected therewith

were well understood. On the King learning what they were doing, he hastened to promulgate a further edict forbidding husbandmen ‘to misuse and misemploy the soyle of this fruitful kingdom,’ beginning with the words, ‘Whereas we, out of the dislike we have to tobacco.’ Thus expressed, his case against the weed is placed in a more intelligible light than that which he had in the first instance thought it expedient to disclose. However absurd his reasoning, his policy succeeded only too well. Besides dealing a crushing blow to the young colony, his

## action had other far-reaching effects. It created a daring race of

smugglers, who did a thriving contraband trade in tobacco with pirates on the Spanish main; and home dealers saw in the greatly enhanced price of the weed a temptation to ‘sophisticate’ too powerful to be resisted. Scattered through the literature of that period may be found some curious allusions to the practice, as in Ben Jonson’s _Alchemist_, where Abel Drugger, speaking in praise of his tobacconist, says:

He lets me have good tobacco, and he does not Sophisticate it with sack-lees or oil; Nor washes it in muscadel and grains, … But keeps it in fine lilly pots, that, opened, Smell like a conserve of roses, or French beans. He has his maple block, his silver tongs, Winchester pipes, and fire of juniper.

In _Bartholomew Faire_ he presents us with a picture of one, Ursula, a vendor of roast pig, bidding her servant ‘Look to’t, sirrah, you had best! three pence a pipe full I will ha’ made of all my whole half pound of tobacco, and a quarter of a pound of coltsfoot, mixed with it too, to eke it out.’ That sophisticating practices were growing apace may be gleaned from Dr. Barclay, of Edinburgh, who in his _Nepenthes_ (1614) speaks of ‘tobacco merchants apparelling European plants with Indian coats and enstalling them in shops as righteous and legitimate tobacco.’ (How very conservative we English are!) ‘Some others, indeed, have tobacco from Florida that they sophisticate and farde in sundrie sorts with black spice, galanga, aqua-vitæ, Spanish wine, anise seedes, oyle of spicke, and such like.’ Less expensive materials than these were more commonly used (and perhaps still are), as the leaves of rhubarb, dock, burdock, plantain, oak and elm, also chickory and cabbage leaves steeped in tar-oil.

If the manufacturers of these and less innocent ‘mixtures’ really find themselves unable to withstand the pressure from without for a cheap smoke, let them confine their sophisticating ingenuity to simple vegetable products, such, for instance, as satisfied Dame Ursula. Coltsfoot or the leaves of the lettuce, being slightly narcotic, would form a harmless make-belief for the good folk who persuade themselves that they could not sleep a wink were they deprived of their evening comfort. Ages ago both Greeks and Romans, according to Dioscorides and Pliny, found comfort in smoking through a reed or pipe the dried leaves of coltsfoot, which relieved them of old coughs and difficult breathing. We can picture the legionary in Britain’s bleak atmosphere, while pacing the Roman Wall, trying to console himself in his lonely vigil with the vapour from his ‘elphin pipe,’ fragments of which have been found among the ruins of those early memorials to the Scots’ persistent determination to travel southwards. And as to the lettuce, it has been famous since the time of Galen (Claudius Galenus), who asserts that he found relief from sleeplessness by taking it at night. Regardless of these things, the Nicotian epicure of to-day enjoys the inestimable advantage of luxuriating in the delicate aroma of the Cuban leaf, while fancying himself wafted on his upward way to Nirvana. The charming simplicity that leads to this ideal conception of existence is most refreshing; the being so lost to the outer world can hardly be blamed if he says rude things when compelled to touch Mother Earth.

But King James had not yet done with tobacco. A monarch of his remarkable idiosyncrasy, as displayed in his creation of a new and lucrative business for the sale of distinguished titles and high offices of State, where he himself possessed the sole monopoly, would naturally see his way to a further stroke of ‘good business’ in the tobacco market. Accordingly, we are not surprised to learn that, viewing with a jealous eye the flourishing state of the new industry, the idea occurred to him that the State coffers might be replenished by taking a still deeper interest in the weed. Hence the issue of a royal proclamation to his loving subjects that they were forbidden to deal in tobacco unless they purchased Royal Letters Patent granting them a license to do so. These could only be procured, on payment of a yearly sum, from the persons who farmed from the King the right to enforce and collect the tax. In the _Stafford Letters_, compiled by Gerrard, relating to the collection of the new tax, it is stated that ‘some towns have yielded twenty marks, £10, £5, £6, fine and rent; none goes under. I hear that Plymouth hath yielded £100 and as much yearly rent.… The tobacco licences go on apace; they yield a good fine, and a constant yearly rent.…’ In some instances a life-lease to deal in tobacco was granted on payment of a lump sum. As to the King’s method of dealing with State affairs of the kind, let Sir Anthony Weldon speak from personal knowledge. He says of the King that ‘he was so crafty and cunning in petty things, as the circumventing any great man. He had a trick of cousen (cozen) himself with bargains under hand, by taking £1,000 or £10,000 as a bribe, when (at the same time) his Counsel was treating with his Customers to raise them to so much more yearly; this went into his Privy purse; wherein he thought he had over-reached the Lords, but consented himself; but would as easily break the bargain upon the next offer, saying he was mistaken and deceived, and therefore no reason he should keep the bargain. This was often the case with the Farmers of the Customs.’

There is a document in the State Archives which throws a curious side-light on the King’s ideas of statecraft. The settlers in Guiana had become tobacco-planters, and required a trade-charter with this country. A charter was granted them, in which a clause was inserted to the effect that one-tenth of the tobacco grown there should go to the King. Thus, in a roundabout way, the King became a tobacco merchant.

The concern which the King had professed for the ‘many mean persons’ of decayed fortune in debt for tobacco had not resulted in helping them out of their difficulties, but rather the contrary. From Aubrey we learn that its cost had risen to the value of silver. He says, ‘I have heard some of our old yeomen neighbours say that when they went to Malmesbury or Chippenham market they culled out their biggest shillings to lay in the scales against the tobacco. Now (1680) the Customes of it are the greatest his majestie hath.’ In various documents of the period, tobacco is mentioned amongst the most expensive luxuries. Even in Elizabeth’s reign its price ranged from 10s. to 18s. a pound, according to the quality.

Meanwhile, jovial spirits were amusing themselves with a lively paper warfare over the virtues and vices of the rare Indian plant that, according to the King, had bewitched them. Early in the fray (1602), appeared anonymously a booklet entitled, _Work for Chimney Sweepers_, or a _Warning to Tobacconists_, calling the smoker’s attention to the necessity for securing the services of one of those useful members of the community. At that time it was the fashion among gallants of the weed to draw the smoke into the lungs and to eject it ‘through the organs of the nose, with a relish that inviteth,’ says the gay, laughing, Doctor Barton Holiday, who took such a wicked delight in tormenting King James at Woodstock in his play of the _Marriage of the Arts_. This was speedily answered by _A Defence of Tobacco_, printed by Richard Field for Thomas Man, wherein the author shows that the ‘warning’ should have roosted at home, where, in its absence, zeal had outrun discretion, and had thereby damaged the cause it would fain have served.

Verbose titles, full of alliteration, fire and fun, were much appreciated by the militant writers of this period. Witness the following heading to a poem against tobacco by Joshua Sylvester, Gent., the favourite poet of King James: ‘Tobacco battered, and the pipes shattered (about their eares that idely idolize so base and barbarous a weed; or leastwise over-love so loathsome a vanitie), by a volley of Holy shot, thundered from Mount Helicon.’ After this brave warning we are prepared to hear that

Hell hath smoake Impenitent tobacconist to choake. Though never dead, there shall they have their fill; In heaven is none, but light and glory still.

Samuel Rowlands in his _Knave of Clubbs_ (1611) writes in a lighter strain, and asks:—

Who durst dispraise tobacco whilst the smoke is in my nose, Or say, but fah! my pipe doth smell! I would I know but those Durst offer such indignity to that which I prefer; For all the brood of blackamoors will swear I do not err, In taking this same worthy whiff with valiant cavalier, But that will make his nostrils smoke, at cupps of wine or beer, When as my purse can not afford my stomach flesh or fish, I sup with smoke, and feel as well and fat as one can wish. … Much victuals serve for gluttony, to fatten men like swine, But he’s a frugal man indeed that with a leaf can dine, And needs no napkins for his hands his fingers’ ends to wipe, But keeps his kitchen in a box, and roast meat in a pipe. This is the way to help down years, a meal a day’s enough; Take out tobacco for the rest by pipe, or else in snuff, And you shall find it physical; a corpulent, fat man, Within a year shall shrink so small that round his waist you’ll span. It’s full of physic’s rare effects, it worketh sundry ways: The leaf green, dried, steep’t, burnt to dust, have each their several praise.

While Englishmen smoked, and laughed at their King’s wondrous ways, or growled at his tenacious grip upon their pockets, Eastern potentates were treating their subjects, as only despots can, for daring to indulge in the Frankish novelty. In Persia, where but recently jealous strife raged for sole possession of the tobacco industry, Abbas I., of dread memory, cut off the lips of those who smoked, and the noses of any who ventured to snuff. On one occasion he threw an unfortunate man, whom he discovered selling tobacco, into a fire along with his goods. Yet, by-and-by, this demon of cruelty himself was enthralled by Nicotiana’s charms, and became one of her most fervent devotees. The Turks, under Amurath IV., were similarly punished for infringing his edict against smoking. Sir Edwin Sandys, of Pontefract, in his travels in 1610, bears testimony to similar acts of cruelty by Mahomet IV. During his stay in Constantinople he witnessed the punishment of a Turk who had been caught solacing the burden of life with the vapour of his new-found joy. Short-lived was the sturdy beggar’s happiness; he was dragged before the tribunal, and condemned to the torture of having a hole pierced through the cartilage of his nose, and a pipe inserted therein. Then, in order to render the punishment more impressive to the multitude, he was seated on the back of an ass with his face to the tail, and driven through the streets of the city, while criers proclaimed his offence and its merited punishment, according to the law of the Sultan. Not less cruel were the punishments inflicted upon Russian smokers, who, under the Tsar Michael Fedorowitz, were publicly knouted for using tobacco in any form; in some instances their nostrils were split open. If guilty of a second offence, death alone could wipe out the crime. The ambassadors of the Duke of Holstein, who visited Moscow in 1634, relate that they were eye-witnesses of a public exhibition of this kind, where eight men and one woman were punished with the knout for selling tobacco. By way of palliating this Russian atrocity, they were informed that houses in Moscow had been set on fire by smokers falling asleep and dropping their lighted pipes.

Oppression, however, like persecution in another sphere, brought succour to the smoker; for, despite every form of opposition and punishment, men quietly went on comforting themselves with the weed, until at last their bitterest foes became their best friends, and gratefully acknowledged the benign sway of St Nicotine.

There is a peculiar interest, not without instruction, in observing the change that came over governments with regard to the consumption of tobacco. One after another they began to recognise a new and most useful virtue in the outcast weed, one which had too long remained hidden. Straightway they took the exotic under their paternal protection, and handsomely were they rewarded for their acknowledgment of her value to mankind. By-and-by, many an anxious custodian of an empty treasury came to look upon St Nicotine as a divinity

… that cures, a vapour that affords Content more solid than the smile of lords,

and as they gathered in their golden harvest of taxation, blessed the name of their benefactress.

In illustration of this change may be mentioned the action which Peter the Great took with the view of establishing tobacco culture and manufacture in his dominions. In the tenth volume of M. de Martin’s magnificent work on the treaties and conventions concluded by Russia with other nations from 1710 to 1801, there is a paragraph which states that Peter the Great, having determined that tobacco should be cultivated and manufactured in Russia, sought in England the necessary workmen, machinery, implements, etc., for transmission to Moscow. Englishmen knew little at that time of the remote Tsardom of Muscovy, but on learning the wants and wealth of the monarchy, enterprising merchants were not slow to undertake the performance of all that was required of them. Accordingly, a party of skilled workmen, with engineers, was soon on its way to Moscow with all necessary material for setting up and working a tobacco factory. When, later, the English Government was apprised of what had been done, ‘Her Majesty, Queen Anne, in Council, was pleased to manifest her profound dissatisfaction, especially in that they proceeded to the realm of Moscow to the cultivation of the native products of her Majesty’s dominions, and in that they have brought to Moscow for this purpose the requisite English workmen and material, which is contrary to the interests and usages of the kingdom of Great Britain.’ Orders were immediately sent to our envoy at Moscow to not only return the workmen to their homes, but to privately and secretly destroy all the materials, machines and instruments of production.

It is not a little amusing to learn how energetically the envoy carried out the order of destruction. He relates at considerable length in his home despatch how he and his secretary (a private secretary undoubtedly) spent a _night_ in breaking up all the machinery and laying waste the material; how he afterwards explained to the Tsar that the object of his zealous operations in smashing up the plant was to save his Majesty’s subjects from a burdensome monopoly and thus, really, to encourage and enhance the tobacco trade in Russia. Remembering that the Tsar was Peter the Great, we are not surprised to learn that our excellent envoy was listened to with impatience.

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