Part 21

On a cross-examination he averred that he did not see Lander at the first coming up of the mob to his house; but he asserted that he stuck fast to him when he saw him in the passage, which was half an hour before the arrival of the guards.

Peter Wood's wife swore that Lander had knocked her down, and had beaten her almost to a jelly.

Lander, in his defence, proved that between twelve and one o'clock that night he was going home to his lodgings, when he heard that there was a riot in the Strand; and that meeting with a soldier who had been ordered with his detachment to disperse the mob in the Strand, he persuaded him to enter with him into a public-house and have a drink. The soldier consented, and then left, and Lander followed to see the fun, and found the mob retreating to Temple Bar, driven forward by the guards. Thereupon, according to his own account, he went into Peter Wood's house to see what mischief had been done, when Wood laid hold of him, under the notion that he was a straggler left behind of those who had begun to wreck the house. Happily at that moment in came the soldier whom Lander had treated to a pint of beer. The evidence of this soldier was conclusive, and Lander was discharged, after having suffered imprisonment for over two months.

It appears evident that Peter Wood's testimony was false; not perhaps purposely so, but erroneous through his mistaking one man for another in the excitement of the partial destruction of his house.

The evidence he gave against John Wilson was that the man knocked him down, and that Wilson, stooping over him, asked, "You dog, are you not dead yet?" and that he caught hold of Wilson's hand and kissed it and prayed for mercy. Moreover, Mrs. Wood testified that she also had entreated him to stay his hand, and had "held him by the face, and stroked him." The waiting-man clinched the testimony by swearing that he also had seen Wilson in the parlour as the settee-bed was being thrown out of the window, and that he (Wilson) helped to throw the bed out. John Wilson earnestly protested that a mistake had been made, and that he was not the man who had done that of which he was accused. He brought numerous testimonies to his good character; but these availed not, and he was condemned to death.

Bosavern Penlez admitted that he had been in Peter Wood's house; he had been rather tipsy at the time, and had been drawn in to follow the mob, but he had done no mischief, neither had he joined the rabble with any evil intent. This availed not; he also was condemned to death. At the last moment Wilson was reprieved and finally pardoned; but poor Bosavern was hanged at Tyburn on the 18th October, 1749, at the age of twenty-three.

Much feeling had been roused in favour of Penlez, and a petition had been got up, numerously signed, requesting that he might be pardoned; but it availed nothing. Then a pamphlet appeared, entitled, _The Case of the Unfortunate Bosavern Penlez_, published by T. Clement, S. Paul's Churchyard, 1749.

As this was widely disseminated, and comments were passed that a grievous injustice had been committed, Henry Fielding, the magistrate, published an answer, entitled _A True State of the Case of Bosavern Penlez_. A. Miller, Strand, 1749.

According to this, on July 1st the house of one Owen, in the Strand, had been attacked. Nathaniel Munns, beadle, had tried to stop it, and two rioters were taken by the constables and conveyed to the prison of the Duchy of Lancaster Liberty. On Sunday, July 2nd, there was a recurrence of the riot, outside the beadle's house; the windows were broken, the bars wrenched away, and the prisoners were released, and doors and windows of the watch-house were smashed.

John Carter, constable, gave evidence as to July 1st, that two wagon-loads of goods had been consumed by fire outside Owen's house. He appealed to General Campbell, at Somerset House, for assistance, and the General sent twelve of the Guards, when the rioters retreated, and began an attack on the house of one Stanhope, throwing stones, breaking windows, and pelting the soldiers, so that soon forty men of the Guards had to be despatched to disperse the rioters.

On Sunday, July 2nd, according to the constable, the mob again assembled in front of Stanhope's house and demolished its contents. Mr. Wilson, a woollen draper, and Mr. Actor, of the same trade, applied for protection, as their shops adjoined the house of Stanhope, and again soldiers were sent for, who dispersed the mob.

James Cecil, Constable of St. George's parish, deposed that on Monday, July 3rd, he was attending prisoners in a coach to Newgate, and he had difficulty in making his way through the mob; and he saw the rioters engaged in smashing the windows of a house near the Old Bailey.

Saunders Welsh, gent., High Constable of Holborn, deposed that on Sunday, July 2nd, he had received information from Stanhope, as to the wrecking of Owen's house on the previous night, and of his fears for his own. On returning that same evening through Fleet Street, he perceived a great fire in the Strand, upon which he proceeded to the house of Peter Wood, who informed him that the rioters had demolished the house of Stanhope, burning his furniture and goods, and that they threatened to deal in the same manner with his house. Whereupon, he, Mr. Saunders Welsh, applied at the Tilt-yard for a military force, which he could only obtain with much difficulty, as he could produce no order from a Justice of the Peace. At length he procured such order, and then an officer and forty men were sent to the scene of the riot. On reaching Cecil Street, he ordered that the drum should be beaten. When he came up to Peter Wood's house, he found that the mob had already in part demolished it, and had thrown a great part of its contents into the street, and were debating about burning them. Had they done so, the deponent said, it would infallibly have set fire to the houses on both sides of the street, which at that point was very narrow, and opposite Wood's house was the bank of Messrs. Snow and Denne. Hearing, however, the rattle of the drum, and the tramp of the advancing soldiers, the mob retreated, and it was whilst so retreating that Bosavern Penlez was arrested, carrying off with him some of the goods of Peter Wood.

Penlez and others were brought before Henry Fielding, J. P. for Middlesex, and were committed to Newgate. This was on Monday. But the same evening there was a recrudescence of the riots, and four thousand sailors assembled on Tower Hill with the resolution to march to Temple Bar. To obviate all future danger, a larger party of soldiers was called out, and these, along with the peace officers, patrolled the Strand all night.

Samuel Marsh, watchman of St. Dunstan's, had apprehended Bosavern Penlez, as he was making off with a bundle of linen, which he pretended belonged to his wife. Before he was arrested, the watchman saw him thrusting divers lace objects into his bosom and pockets, but he let fall a lace cap. When apprehended, he protested that he was conveying his wife's property, who had pawned all his clothes, and that he was retaliating by taking her articles to pawn.

There were other witnesses against Penlez, and although the evidence of Peter Wood was worthless, that of the beadles and watchmen sufficed to show that he had been collecting and making into a bundle various articles from Wood's house, with the object of purloining them. The question of Penlez having been in Wood's house was not gone into. Bosavern in vain called for witnesses to his character. His master, the peruke maker, declined to put in an appearance and give favourable testimony; for, in fact, Penlez had been leading a dissipated and disorderly life. Henry Fielding, in conclusion, says: "The first and second day of the riot, no magistrate, nor any other higher peace-officer than a petty constable (save only Mr. Welsh) interfered in it. On the third day only one magistrate took on him to act. When the prisoners were committed to Newgate, no public prosecution was for some time ordered against them; and when it was ordered, it was carried on so mildly, that one of the prisoners (Wilson) being not in prison, was, though contrary to the laws, at the desire of a noble person in great power, bailed out, when a capital indictment was then found against him. At the trial, neither an Attorney nor Solicitor-General, nor even one of the King's Council, appeared against the prisoners. Lastly, when two were convicted, one only was executed; and I doubt very much whether even he would have suffered, had it not appeared that a capital indictment for burglary was likewise found by the Grand Jury against him, and upon such evidence as I think every impartial man must allow would have convicted him (had he been tried) for felony at least."

There had been found on Penlez ten lace caps, four laced handkerchiefs, three pairs of laced ruffles, two laced clouts, five plain handkerchiefs, five plain aprons, one laced apron, all the property of the wife of Peter Wood. It was altogether false that Penlez was married. Fielding says: "I hope I have said enough to prove that the man who was made an example of deserved his fate. Which, if he did, I think it will follow that more hath been said and done in his favour than ought to have been; and that the clamour of severity against the Government hath been in the highest degree unjustifiable. To say the truth, it would be more difficult to justify the lenity used on this occasion."

The case of Bosavern Penlez was the more hard and open to criticism, in that, in the very same year, there was a serious riot in the Haymarket Theatre, when the Duke of Cumberland, a prince of the blood, had drawn his sword, and leaping upon the stage, had called on everybody to follow him. The people, ripe for mischief, were too loyal to decline a prince's invitation. The seats were smashed, the scenery torn down, and the wreckage carried into the street, where a bonfire was made of it; and but for the timely appearance of the authorities the building itself would have been added to the fuel. For this, no one was hanged. What was sauce for the goose was not sauce for the gander.

Reference is made to the case of Bosavern Penlez in Walpole's _Memoirs of the Last Ten Years of George II_, I, p. 11, and in the _Private Journal of John Byrom_, published by the Chetham Society, as also in the _Gentleman's Magazine_ for 1749.

SAMUEL FOOTE

This dramatic author and player was born at Truro in the year 1721.[17] His father, John Foote, was a magistrate of the county of Cornwall and commissioner of the Prize office and Fine contract. He was well descended, deriving from the family of Foote of Trelogorsick, in Veryan, afterwards of Lambesso, in S. Clements, acquired by bequest in the reign of Charles II. The arms of the family were, _vert_ a chevron between three doves _argent_--the doves singularly inappropriate as the cognizance of Samuel, as that bird was deemed to be without gall. Bodannan, in S. Enoder, was acquired by the Footes of Lambesso by purchase. The family did not register its arms and establish its pedigree at the visitation of the Heralds in 1620, but that it was gentle admits of no dispute. As no pedigree of the family has been recorded, it is unknown who was the grandfather of Samuel Foote, but possibly he may have been the Samuel Foote of Tiverton whose daughter Elizabeth married, 1691, Dennis Glyn of Cardinham, son of Nicolas Glyn of Cardinham, M.P. for Bodmin and Sheriff of Cornwall. Samuel's mother, descended in the female line from the Earls of Rutland, was daughter of Sir Edward Goodere, Bart., who had two surviving brothers out of six--Sir John Dinely Goodere, Bart., and Samuel Goodere, captain of His Majesty's ship _Ruby_. A disagreement having arisen between the two brothers, Sir John cut off the entail of his estates and settled them on his sister's family. This widened the breach, and the brothers had not spoken for years.

[Illustration: S. Foote]

Matters were in this train when, by accident, both brothers met in Bristol in the January of 1741. Samuel was then in command of his ship, lying in the roads. Sir John was invited to dine with Mr. Jarrit Smith, an attorney living on College Green, and the captain called on this gentleman and requested permission to be admitted to his table to meet his brother, whom he had not seen for a very long time. Mr. Smith readily acceded to this proposal, and was glad to have the opportunity of apparently reconciling the brothers. After dinner he left the room for an hour in order to afford them a better opportunity of completing the reconciliation. On his return he found them on the most friendly terms. In this manner they parted at six o'clock in the evening, the captain taking his leave first. When some half an hour later Sir John quitted the house, as he was passing the College Green Coffee-house, on his way to his lodgings, he was fallen upon by a party of the sailors of the _Ruby_ and the _Vernon_ privateer, with Captain Goodere at their head; a cloak was thrown over his head to muffle his cries for help, and he was hurried to a boat, awaiting them in the river, and conveyed thence on board the _Ruby_. When there, they got him into the purser's cabin, and the captain, by promises of ample reward, induced two of his sailors, Matthew Mahony and Charles White, to strangle him. In order to effect this the captain cut the cord that attached his escritoire to the floor of the cabin, and himself passed it round his brother's neck. Then, drawing his sword, he stood sentinel at the door and bade the two ruffians do their duty. Owing to the struggles of Sir John and the nervousness of the men, half an hour elapsed before the baronet was dead. At last, when all was over, the captain deliberately walked to his brother's body, held a candle over it to assure himself that he was dead, and exclaimed, "Aye, this will do; his business is now done."

Next day the circumstance of a gentleman having been kidnapped on College Green induced Mr. Smith to make inquiries; when, finding that the description of the gentleman answered to the person of Sir John Dinely Goodere, he entertained strong suspicions of foul play shown by his brother, and he applied to the mayor of Bristol for a warrant to search the _Ruby_. This was granted, and there the baronet was found strangled in the purser's cabin, and the captain already secured by the first lieutenant and two of the men, who had overheard the conference relative to the murder.

Captain Samuel Goodere and his two associates were tried at the next assizes at Bristol on March 26th, 1741, were found guilty of "wilful murder," and were hanged.

Thus Mrs. Foote, deriving under the will of her brother Sir John, became heiress to his estates.

John Foote had two sons by this lady, Samuel and Edward. The first, the subject of this memoir, was designed for the Bar; the second for the Church. This latter was a feeble-minded man, who never obtained preferment, dribbled away his fortune, and was latterly in great distress, supported by the liberality of his brother.

Foote was sent to school as a boy under the worthy Mr. Conon, head-master of Truro Grammar School. There he was initiated into Terence's plays, and in acting his part excelled all his schoolfellows, and it was in consequence of his success within this little circle that he caught his first inspiration for the stage.

One of the earliest instances of his jocularity, as practised on his own father, is related by R. Polwhele in his _Traditions and Recollections_. Imitating the voice of Mr. Nicholas Donnithorne, from an inner apartment where his father had supposed that gentleman was sitting, he drew his father into conversation on the subject of a family transaction between the two old gentlemen, and thus possessed himself of a secret, which, whilst it displayed his power of mimicry, justly incurred his parent's displeasure.

Mr. Polwhele says: "Those (of the inhabitants of Truro) are gone who used in his presence to arise trembling with their mirth. Conscious of some oddnesses in their appearance or character, they shrunk from his sly observation. They knew that every civility, every hospitable attention, could not save them from his satire; and, after such experience, they naturally avoided his company instead of courting it. Foote, indeed, had no restraint upon himself, with respect either to his conversation or his conduct. He was, in every sense of the word, a libertine.... He was certainly a very unamiable character. Polly Hicks, a pretty, silly, simpering girl, was dazzled by his wit. She had some property; he therefore made her his wife, but never treated her as such."

The father died soon after the establishment of his sons in their several professions; but the mother lived to the advanced age of eighty-four. W. Cooke says of her:--

"We had the pleasure of dining with her, in company with a granddaughter of hers, at a barrister's chambers in Gray's Inn, when she was at the age of seventy-nine; and although she had full sixty steps to ascend before she reached the drawing-room, she did it without the help of a cane, and with all the activity of a woman of forty.

"Her manners and conversation were of the same cast--witty, humorous, and convivial; and though her remarks occasionally (considering her age and sex) rather strayed beyond the limits of becoming mirth, she, on the whole, delighted everybody, and was confessedly the heroine of that day's party.

"She was likewise in face and person the very model of her son Samuel--short, fat, and flabby, with an eye that eternally gave the signal for mirth and good humour; in short, she resembled him so much in all her movements, and so strongly identified his person and manners, that by changing habits they might be thought to have interchanged sexes."

After leaving school Samuel Foote received his education at Worcester College, Oxford, formerly Gloucester Hall, which owed its refoundation and change of name to Sir Thomas Cooke, Bart., a second cousin of Samuel.

The church connected with the college fronted a lane, where cattle were sometimes turned out to graze during the night, and the bell-rope hung very low in the middle of the outside porch. Foote one night made a loop in the cord and inserted a wisp of hay. One of the cows smelling this seized it, and by tugging at the rope made the bell ring, and continue to ring at jerky intervals till the hay was consumed. This produced consternation in the neighbourhood; people ran out of their houses thinking that there must be a fire somewhere. The same happened next and the following nights, and it was concluded that the church was haunted. But Dr. Gower, the then provost, and the sexton sat up one night and watched, and discovered that this was a prank of one of the scholars.

From the University Foote was removed to the Temple, but the dryness of the law was not to his taste, and he turned to the stage.

His first appearance was in the part of Othello at the Haymarket Theatre, February 6th, 1747. But as Macklin said on this occasion, "it was little better than a total failure. Neither his figure, voice, nor manners corresponded with the character; and in those mixed passages of tenderness and rage the former was expressed so whiningly, and the latter in a tone so sharp and inharmonious, that the audience could scarcely refrain from laughing."

Probably he speedily saw that his genius did not lie in the direction of tragedy, and he soon struck out into a new and untrodden path, in which he at once attained the two great ends of affording entertainment to the people and gaining emolument for himself. He opened the Haymarket Theatre in the spring of 1747 with a piece of his own writing, entitled _The Diversions of the Morning_. This consisted of a mimicry of the best-known men of the day--actors, doctors, lawyers, statesmen. Had he contented himself with this he might not have been interfered with, but to the piece of mimicry he added the performance of popular farces--and he had failed to procure a licence. To evade this difficulty he announced his entertainment as a Concert of Music, after which would be given _gratis_ his _Diversions_ and a play.

The managers of the patent houses could not tolerate such an infringement of their rights. They appealed to the Westminster magistrates, and on the second night the constables entered the theatre and dispersed the audience.

But Foote was not so easily put down. The very next morning he published the following statement in the _General Advertiser_: "On Saturday afternoon, exactly at twelve o'clock, at the New Theatre in the Haymarket, Mr. Foote begs the favour of his friends to come and drink a dish of chocolate with him, and 'tis hoped there will be a great deal of company and some joyous spirits. He will endeavour to make the morning as diverting as possible. Tickets to be had for this entertainment at George's Coffee House, Temple Bar, without which no one will be admitted. N.B.--Sir Dilbury Diddle will be there, and Lady Betty Frisk has absolutely promised." No one knew what this advertisement meant, and a crowded house was the natural result. When the curtain rose Foote came forward and informed the audience that "as he was training some young performers for the stage, he would, with their permission, whilst chocolate was getting ready, proceed with his instructions before them." Then some young people, engaged for the purpose, were brought upon the stage, and under the pretence of instructing them in the art of acting, he introduced his imitations.

As he was not interfered with, he changed the hour to the evening and substituted tea for chocolate.

He mimicked Quin as a watchman, with deep, sonorous voice calling out, "Past twelve o'clock, and a cloudy morning"; Delane as a one-eyed beggar; Peg Woffington as an orange girl, and imitated the unpleasant squealing tone of her voice; Garrick in his dying scenes, on which he prided himself.

As may well be supposed, actors, who are peculiarly sensitive to ridicule, were offended. When they appeared in a grave play, as for instance, when Garrick was dying on the stage, the audience laughed, recalling what they had witnessed at the Haymarket. They complained, "What is fun to you is death to us," but Foote paid no regard to their remonstrances; he laughed and pursued his course. He was perfectly unscrupulous, wholly devoid of delicacy of feeling, and would turn his best friend and benefactor into ridicule in public. But when, later, Weston took him off, he was highly incensed, and bided his time to be revenged on him.