T. F. Thiselton Dyer - Strange Pages from Family Papers

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But the Lord Mayor, Sir Crisp Gascoyne, who had presided at the trial
_ex-officio_, was not satisfied with the verdict, and caused further
and searching inquiries to be made. The verdict, on the weight of
fresh evidence obtained, was upset, and Squires was granted a free
pardon. On 29th April, 1754, Elizabeth Canning was summoned again to
the Old Bailey, but this time to take her trial for wilful and corrupt
perjury. The trial lasted eight days, and, being found guilty, she was
transported in August, "at the request of her friends, to New
England." According to the "Annual Register," she returned to this
country at the expiration of her sentence to receive a legacy of L500,
left to her three years before by an old lady of Newington Green;
whereas, later accounts affirm that she never came back, but died 22nd
July, 1773, at Weathersfield, in Connecticut, it being further stated
that she married abroad a Quaker of the name of Treat, "and for some
time followed the occupation of a schoolmistress."

The mystery of her life--her disappearance from Jan. 1st to the 29th
of that month, and what transpired in that interval--is a secret that
has never been to this day divulged. Indeed, as it has been observed,
"notwithstanding the many strange circumstances of her story, none is
so strange as that it should not be discovered in so many years where
she had concealed herself during the time she had invariably declared
she was at the house of Mother Wells."[48]

Another curious disappearance is recorded by Sir John Coleridge,
forming a strange story of romance. It seems there lived in Cornwall,
a highly respectable family, named Robinson, consisting of two
sons--William and Nicholas--and two daughters. The property was
settled on the two sons and their male issue, and in case of death on
the two daughters. Nicholas was placed with an eminent attorney of St.
Austen as his clerk, with a prospect of being one day admitted into
partnership. But his legal studies were somewhat interrupted by his
falling in love with a milliner's apprentice; the result being that he
was sent to London to qualify himself as an attorney. But he had no
sooner been admitted an attorney of the Queen's Bench and Common
Pleas than he disappeared, and thenceforward he was never seen by any
member of his family or former friends, all search for him proving
fruitless.

In course of time the father died, and William, the elder son,
succeeded to the property, dying unmarried in May, 1802. As nothing
was heard of Nicholas, the two sisters became entitled to the
property, of which they held possession for twenty years, no claim
being made to disturb their possession of it.

But in the year 1783, a young man, whose looks and manners were above
his means and situation, had made his appearance as a stranger at
Liverpool, going by the name of Nathaniel Richardson--the same
initials as Nicholas Robinson. He bought a cab and horse, and plied
for hire in the streets of Liverpool--and being "a civil, sober, and
prudent man," he soon became prosperous, and drove a coach between
London and Liverpool. He married, had children, and gradually acquired
considerable wealth. Having gone to Wales, however, in the year 1802,
to purchase some horses, he was accidentally drowned in the Mersey.
Many years after his death, it was rumoured in 1821 that this
Nathaniel Richardson was no other than Nicholas Robinson, and his
eldest son claimed the property, which was then inherited by the two
daughters. An action was accordingly tried in Cornwall to recover the
property. The strange part of the proceedings was that nearly forty
years had elapsed since anyone had seen Nicholas Robinson; but, says
Sir John Coleridge, "It was made out conclusively, in a most
remarkable way, and by a variety of small circumstances, all pointing
to one conclusion, that Nathaniel Richardson was the identical
Nicholas Robinson". The Cornish and Liverpool witnesses agreed in the
description of his person, his height, the colour of his hair, his
general appearance, and, more particularly, it was mentioned that he
had a peculiar habit of biting his nails, and that he had a great
fondness for horses.

In addition to other circumstances, there was this remarkable
one--that Nathaniel's widow married again and that the furniture and
effects were taken to the second husband's house. Among the articles,
was an old trunk, which she had never seen opened; but, on its
contents being examined one day, among other letters and papers, were
found the two certificates of Nicholas Robinson's admission as
Attorney to the Courts of Queen's Bench and Common Pleas--and, on the
trial, the old master of Nicholas Robinson, alias Nathaniel
Richardson, swore to his handwriting, and so the property was
discovered.

It has been often remarked that London is about the only place in all
Europe where a man, if so desirous, can disappear and live for years
unknown in some secure retreat. About the year 1706, a certain Mr.
Howe, after he had been married some seven or eight years, rose early
one morning, and informed his wife that he was obliged to go to the
Tower on special business, and at about noon the same day he sent a
note to his wife informing her that business summoned him to Holland,
where he would probably have to remain three weeks or a month. But
from that day he was absent from his home for seventeen years, during
which time his wife neither heard from him, nor of him.

His strange and unaccountable disappearance at the time naturally
created comment, but no trace could be found of his whereabouts, or as
to whether he had met with foul treatment. And yet the most curious
part of the story remains to be told. On leaving his house in Jermyn
Street, Piccadilly, Mr. Howe went no further than to a small street in
Westminster, where he took a room, for which he paid five or six
shillings a week, and changing his name, and disguising himself by
wearing a black wig--for he was a fair man--he remained in this
locality during the whole time of his absence. At the time he
disappeared from his home, Mr. Howe had had two children by his wife,
but these both died a few years afterwards. But, being left without
the necessary means of subsistence, Mrs. Howe, after waiting two or
three years in the hope of her husband's return, was forced to apply
for an Act of Parliament to procure an adequate settlement of his
estate, and a provision for herself out of it during his absence, as
it was uncertain whether he was alive or dead. This act Mr. Howe
suffered to be passed, and read the progress of it in a little
coffee-house which he frequented.

After the death of her children, Mrs. Howe removed from her house in
Jermyn Street to a smaller one in Brewer Street, near Golden Square.
Just over against her lived one Salt, a corn chandler, with whom Mr.
Howe became acquainted, usually dining with him once or twice a week.
The room where they sat overlooked Mrs. Howe's dining room, and Salt,
believing Howe to be a bachelor, oftentimes recommended her to him as
a suitable wife. And, curious to add, during the last seven years of
his mysterious absence, Mr. Howe attended every Sunday service at St.
James's Church, Piccadilly, and sat in Mr. Salt's seat, where he had a
good view of his wife, although he could not be easily seen by her.

At last, however, Mr. Howe made up his mind to return home, and the
evening before he took this step, sent her an anonymous note
requesting her to meet him the following day in Birdcage Walk, St.
James's Square. At the time this billet arrived, Mrs. Howe was
entertaining some friends and relatives at supper--one of her guests
being a Dr. Rose, who had married her sister.

After reading the note, Mrs. Howe tossed it to Dr. Rose, laughingly
remarking, "You see, brother, old as I am, I have got a gallant."

But Dr. Rose recognised the handwriting as that of Mr. Howe, which so
upset Mrs. Howe that she fainted away. It was eventually arranged that
Dr. Rose and his wife, with the other guests who were then at supper,
should accompany Mrs. Howe the following evening to the appointed
spot. They had not long to wait before Mr. Howe appeared, who, after
embracing his wife, walked home with her in the most matter-of-fact
manner, the two living together in the most happy and harmonious
manner till death divided them.

The reason of this mysterious disappearance, Mr. Howe would never
explain, but Dr. Rose often maintained that he believed his brother
would never have returned to his wife had not the money which he took
with him--supposed to have been from one to two thousand pounds--been
all spent. "Anyhow," he used to add, "Mr. Howe must have been a good
economist, and frugal in his manner of living, otherwise the money
would scarce have held out."

A romance associated with Haigh Hall, in Lancashire, tells how Sir
William Bradshaigh, stimulated by his love of travel and military
ardour, set out for the Holy land. Ten years elapsed, and, as no
tidings reached his wife of his whereabouts, it was generally supposed
that he had perished in some religious crusade. Taking it for granted,
therefore, that he was dead, his wife Mabel did not abandon herself
to a life of solitary widowhood, but accepted an offer of marriage
from a Welsh knight. But, not very long afterwards, Sir William
Bradshaigh returned from his prolonged sojourn in the Holy land, and,
disguised as a palmer, he visited his own castle, where he took his
place amongst the recipients of Lady Mabel's bounty.

As soon, however, as Lady Mabel caught sight of the palmer, she was
struck by the strong resemblance he bore to her first husband; and
this impression was quickly followed by bewilderment when the
mysterious stranger handed to her a ring which he affirmed had been
given him by Sir William, in his dying moments, to bear to his wife at
Haigh Hall.

In a moment Lady Mabel's thoughts travelled back into the distant
past, and she burst into tears as the ring brought back the dear
memories of bygone days. It was in vain she tried to stifle her
feelings, and, as her second husband--the Welsh Knight--looked on and
saw how distressed she was, "he grew," says the old record, "exceeding
wroth," and, in a fit of jealous passion, struck Lady Mabel.

This ungallant act was the climax of the painful scene, for there and
then Sir William threw aside his disguise, and hastened to revenge the
unchivalrous conduct of the Welsh knight. Completely confounded at
this unexpected turn of events, and fearing violence from Sir
William, the Welsh knight rode off at full speed, without waiting for
any explanation of the matter. But he was overtaken very speedily and
slain by his opponent, an offence for which Sir William was outlawed
for a year and a day; while Mabel, his wife, "was enjoined by her
confessor to do penance by going once every week, barefoot and bare
legged, to a cross near Wigan, popularly known as Mab's Cross.[49]

In Wigan Parish Church, two figures of whitewashed stone preserve the
memory of Sir William Bradshaigh and his Lady Mabel, he in an antique
coat of mail, cross-legged, with his sword, partly drawn from the
scabbard, by his left side, and she in a long robe, veiled, her hands
elevated and conjoined in the attitude of fervent prayer. Sir Walter
Scott informs us that from this romance he adopted his idea of "The
Betrothed," "from the edition preserved in the mansion of Haigh Hall,
of old the mansion house of the family of Bradshaigh, now possessed by
their descendants on the female side, the Earls of Balcarres."[50]

[Illustration: LADY MABEL AND THE PALMER.]

Scottish tradition ascribes to the Clan of Tweedie a descent of a
similar romantic nature. A baron, somewhat elderly, had wedded a buxom
young wife, but some months after their union he left her to ply the
distaff among the mountains of the county of Peebles, near the sources
of the Tweed. After being absent seven or eight years--no uncommon
space for a pilgrimage to Palestine--he returned, and found, to quote
the account given by Sir Walter Scott, "his family had not been lonely
in his absence, the lady having been cheered by the arrival of a
stranger who hung on her skirts and called her mammy, and was just
such as the baron would have longed to call his son, but that he could
by no means make his age correspond with his own departure for
Palestine. He applied, therefore, to his wife for the solution of the
dilemma, who, after many floods of tears, informed her husband that,
walking one day along the banks of the river, a human form arose from
a deep eddy, termed Tweed-pool, who deigned to inform her that he was
the tutelar genius of the stream, and he became the father of the
sturdy fellow whose appearance had so much surprised her husband."
After listening to this strange adventure, "the husband believed, or
seemed to believe, the tale, and remained contented with the child
with whom his wife and the Tweed had generously presented him. The
only circumstance which preserved the memory of the incident was that
the youth retained the name of Tweed or Tweedie." Having bred up the
young Tweed as his heir while he lived, the baron left him in that
capacity when he died, "and the son of the river-god founded the
family of Drummelzier and others, from whom have flowed, in the phrase
of the Ettrick shepherd, 'many a brave fellow, and many a bauld
feat.'"

It may be added that, in some instances, the science of the medical
jurist has aided in elucidating the history of disappearances, through
identifying the discovered remains with the presumed missing subjects.
Some years ago, the examination of a skeleton found deeply imbedded in
the sand of the sea-coast at a certain Scotch watering-place showed
that the person when living must have walked with a very peculiar and
characteristic gait, in consequence of some deposits of a rheumatic
kind which affected the lower part of the spine. The mention of this
circumstance caused a search to be made through some old records of
the town, and resulted in the discovery of a mysterious disappearance,
which, at the time, had been duly noted--the subject being a person
whose mode of walking had made him an object of attention, and whose
fate, but for the observant eye of the anatomist, must have remained
wholly unknown. Similarly, it has been pointed out how skeletons found
in mines, in disused wells, in quarries, in the walls of ruins, and
various other localities "imply so many social mysteries which
probably occasioned in their day a wide-spread excitement, or at least
agitated profoundly some small circle of relatives or friends."
According to the "Annual Register" (1845, p. 195), while some men were
being employed in taking the soil from the bottom of the river in
front of some mills a human skeleton was accidentally found. At a
coroner's inquest, it transpired that about nine years before a Jew
whose name was said to be Abrams, visited Taverham in the course of
his business, sold some small articles for which he gave credit to the
purchasers, and left the neighbourhood on his way to Drayton, the next
village, with a sum of L90 in his possession. But at Drayton he
disappeared, and never returned to Taverham to claim the amount due to
him.

Search was made for the missing man, but to no purpose, and after the
excitement in the neighbourhood had abated, the matter was soon
forgotten. But some time afterwards a man named Page was apprehended
for sheep stealing, tried, and sentenced to be transported for life.
During his imprisonment, he told divers stories of robberies and
crimes, most of which turned out to be false. But, amongst other
things, he wrote a letter promising that if he were released from gaol
and brought to Cossey, "he would show them that, from under the willow
tree, which would make every hair in their heads rise up." The man was
not released, but the river was drawn, and some sheep's skins and
sheep's heads were found, which were considered to be the objects
alluded to by Page. The search, however, was still pursued, and from
under the willow tree the skeleton was fished up, evidently having
been fastened down. It was generally supposed that these were the
bones of the long lost Jew, who, no doubt, had been murdered for the
money on his person--a crime of which Page was aware, if he were not
an accomplice.

FOOTNOTES:

[47] See "Romantic Records of the Aristocracy," 1850, I., 83-87.

[48] See "Dict. of Nat. Biog.," VIII., 418-420; Caulfield's "Remarkable
Persons," and Gent. Mag., 1753 and 1754.

[49] Sir B. Burke's "Vicissitudes of Families," first series, 270-273.
Harland's "Lancashire Legends," 45-47. Roby's "Traditions of
Lancashire."

[50] The tale of the noble Moringer is, in some respects, almost
identical with this tradition. It exists in a collection of German
popular songs, and is supposed to be extracted from a manuscript
"Chronicle of Nicholas Thomann, Chaplain to St. Leonard in
Weissenhorn," and dated 1533.

CHAPTER XIV.

HONOURED HEARTS.

"I will ye charge, after that I depart
To holy grave, and thair bury my heart,
Let it remaine ever bothe tyme and hour,
To ye last day I see my Saviour."
--Old ballad quoted in Sir Walter Scott's notes
to "Marmion."

A curious and remarkable custom which prevailed more or less down to
the present century was that of heart burial. In connection with this
strange practice numerous romantic stories are told, the supreme
regard for the heart as the source of the affections, having caused it
to be bequeathed by a relative or friend, in times past, as the most
tender and valuable legacy. In many cases, too, the heart, being more
easy to transport, was removed from some distant land to the home of
the deceased, and hence it found a resting place, apart from the body,
in a locality endeared by past associations.

Westminster Abbey, it may be remembered, contains the hearts of many
illustrious personages. The heart of Queen Elizabeth was buried there,
and it is related how a prying Westminster boy one day, discovering
the depositories of the hearts of Elizabeth and her sister, Queen
Mary, subsequently boasted how he had grasped in his hand those once
haughty hearts. Prince Henry of Wales, son of James I., who died at
the early age of eighteen, was interred in Westminster Abbey, his
heart being enclosed in lead and placed upon his breast, and among
further royal personages whose hearts were buried in a similar manner
may be mentioned Charles II., William and Mary, George, Prince of
Denmark, and Queen Anne.

The heart of Edward, Lord Bruce, was enclosed in a silver case, and
deposited in the abbey church of Culross, near the family seat. In the
year 1808, this sad relic was discovered by Sir Robert Preston, the
lid of the silver case bearing on the exterior the name of the
unfortunate duellist; and, after drawings had been taken of it, the
whole was carefully replaced in the vault; and in St. Nicholas's
Chapel, Westminster, was enshrined the heart of Esme Stuart, Duke of
Richmond, where a monument to his memory is still to be seen with this
fact inscribed upon it.

Many interesting instances of heart burial are to be found in our
parish churches. In the church of Horndon-on-the-Hill, Essex, which
was once the seat of Sir Thomas Boleyn, a nameless black marble
monument is pointed out as that of Anne Boleyn. According to a popular
tradition long current in the neighbourhood, this is said to have
contained the head, or heart. "It is within a narrow seat," writes
Miss Strickland, "and may have contained her head, or her heart, for
it is too short to contain a body. The oldest people in the
neighbourhood all declare that they have heard the tradition in their
youth from a previous generation of aged persons, who all affirm it to
be Anne Boleyn's monument." But, it would seem, there has always been
a mysterious uncertainty about Anne Boleyn's burial place, and a
correspondent of the _Gentleman's Magazine_ (October, 1815), speaks of
"the headless remains of the departed queen, as deposited in the arrow
chest and buried in the Tower Chapel before the high altar. Where that
stood, the most sagacious antiquary, after a lapse of more than 300
years, cannot now determine; nor is the circumstance, though related
by eminent writers, clearly ascertained. In a cellar, the body of a
person of short stature, without a head, not many years since, was
found, and supposed to be the reliques of poor Anne, but soon after it
was reinterred in the same place and covered with earth."[51]

By her testament, Eleanor, Duchess of Buckingham, wife of Edward, Duke
of Buckingham, who was beheaded on May 17th, 1521, appointed her heart
to be buried in the church of the Grey Friars, within the City of
London; and in the Sackville Vault, in Withyam Church, Sussex, is a
curiously shaped leaden box in the form of a heart, on a brass plate
attached to which is this inscription: "The heart of Isabella,
Countess of Northampton, died on October 14th, 1661." A leaden drum
deposited in a vault in the church of Brington is generally supposed
to contain the head of Henry Spencer, Earl of Sunderland, who received
his death wound at the battle of Newbury; and at Wells Cathedral, in a
box of copper, a heart was accidentally discovered, supposed to be
that of one of the bishops; and in the family vault of the
Hungerfords, at Farley Castle, a heart was one day found in a glazed
earthenware pot, covered with white leather. The widow of John Baliol,
father of Bruce's rival, showed her affection for her dead lord in a
strange way, for she embalmed his heart, placed it in an ivory casket,
and during her twenty years of widowhood she never sat down to meals
without this silent reminder of happier days. On her death, she left
instructions for her husband's heart to be laid on her bosom, and from
that day "New Abbey" was known as Sweet Heart Abbey, and "never," it
is said, "did abbey walls shelter a sweeter, truer heart than that of
the lady of Barnard Castle."

Among the many instances of heart-bequests may be noticed that of
Edward I., who on his death-bed expressed a wish to his son that his
heart might be sent to Palestine, inasmuch as after his accession he
had promised to return to Jerusalem, and aid the crusade which was
then in a depressed condition. But, unfortunately, owing to his wars
with Scotland, he failed to fulfil his engagement, and at his death he
provided two thousand pounds of silver for an expedition to convey his
heart thither, "trusting that God would accept this fulfilment of his
vow, and grant his blessing on the undertaking"; at the same time
imprecating "eternal damnation on any who should expend the money for
any other purpose." But his injunction was not performed.

Robert Bruce, king of Scotland, the avowed foe of Edward I., also gave
directions to his trusted friend, Sir James Douglas, that his heart
should be buried in the Holy Land, because he had left unfulfilled a
vow to assist in the Crusade, but his wish was frustrated owing to the
following tragic occurrence. After the king's death, his heart was
taken from his body, and, enclosed in a silver case, was worn by Sir
James Douglas suspended to his neck, who set out for the Holy Land. On
reaching Spain, he found the King of Castile engaged in war with the
Moors, and thinking any contest with Saracens consistent with his
vows, he joined the Spaniards against the Moors. But being overpowered
by the enemy's horsemen, in desperation he took the heart from his
neck, and threw it before him, shouting aloud, "Pass on as thou wert
wont, I will follow or die." He was almost immediately struck down,
and under his body was found the heart of Bruce, which was intrusted
to the charge of Sir Simon Locard of Lee, who conveyed it back to
Scotland, and interred it beneath the high altar in Melrose Abbey, in
connection with which Mrs. Hemans wrote some spirited lines:--

Heart! thou didst press forward still
When the trumpet's note rang shrill,
Where the knightly swords were crossing
And the plumes like sea-foam tossing.
Leader of the charging spear,
Fiery heart--and liest thou here?
May this narrow spot inurn
Aught that so could heat and burn?

The heart of Richard, the Lion-hearted, has had a somewhat eventful
history. It seems that this monarch bequeathed his heart to Rouen, as
a lasting recognition of the constancy of his Norman subjects. The
honour was gratefully acknowledged, and in course of time a beautiful
shrine was erected to his memory in the cathedral. But this costly
structure did not escape being destroyed in the year 1738 with other
Plantagenet memorials. A hundred years afterwards the mutilated effigy
of Richard was discovered under the cathedral pavement, and near it
the leaden casket that had inclosed his heart, which was replaced.
Before long it was taken up again, and removed to the Museum of
Antiquities, where it remained until the year 1869, when it found a
more fitting resting-place in the choir of the cathedral.

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