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Title: Quintus Servinton
A Tale founded upon Incidents of Real Occurence
Author: Henry Savery
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eBook No.: 0700971h.html
Language: English
Date first posted: Aug 2007
Date most recently updated: Aug 2007
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CONTENTS Preface Bibliography Biographical Introduction QUINTUS SERVINTON VOLUME ONE PREFACE INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV CHAPTER V CHAPTER VI CHAPTER VII CHAPTER VIII CHAPTER IX CHAPTER X CHAPTER XI CHAPTER XII VOLUME TWO CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV CHAPTER V CHAPTER VI CHAPTER VII CHAPTER VIII CHAPTER IX CHAPTER X VOLUME THREE CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV CHAPTER V CHAPTER VI CHAPTER VII CHAPTER VIII CHAPTER IX CHAPTER X CHAPTER XI CHAPTER XII CHAPTER XIII CONCLUSION
The original edition of Quintus Servinton is extremely rare, only three copies being listed in Ferguson's Bibliography. These are held by Dr. W. Crowther, the Mitchell Library, and the Public Library of Tasmania. This reprint follows the text of the original in all its vagaries of style, spelling, and punctuation. The only modifications made are corrections of a few obvious misprints; ot, for instance, has been silently changed to to. Students and others interested in our literature now have ready access to the text of the first Australian novel as printed just over a hundred and thirty years ago.
Any student who works in the field of early Tasmanian printing, especially where Henry Savery is concerned, is essentially dependent on the pioneer work of Dr. E. Morris Miller. My own debt to him, as writer and man, is very considerable, and I most gratefully acknowledge it. This reprint is by his permission dedicated to him.
Other Tasmanians to whom my warm thanks are due are Dr. W. Crowther, Dr. C. Craig, Mr. E. R. Pretyman, and the officers of the State Library of Tasmania and the Tasmanian Archives—Messrs. B. W. Wray, P. Eldershaw, G. Stilwell, and Miss M. Milne.
The officers of the Mitchell Library have most willingly given that help to which students have been so long accustomed; the Trustees of the State Library of Victoria have granted permission to make use of four Savery letters in the Calder Papers; the National Library at Canberra has provided on inter-library loan its microfilms of early issues of The Times (London); the officers of the University of Queensland Library—and here I must especially thank Mr. Spencer Routh—have helped me in various ways with cheerful readiness.
Dr. Russel Ward of Armidale has generously drawn on his unrivalled stores to answer certain queries; Sir J. A. Ferguson graciously allowed me access to a rare edition of The Newgate Calendar in his possession; and I am grateful to Professor A. C. Cawley for a patient reading of the biographical introduction.
Overseas help has come from Mr. W. S. Haugh, City Librarian of Bristol, whose unworried competence and long patience have saved me weeks of work. To Mr. F. L. Hill of Paignton, Devon, a special debt is due for his kindness in providing a transcript of certain parts of Mary Wise Savery Hawkins's copy of the John Savery genealogical manuscript. The editors of the Western Morning News (Plymouth) and the Western Times and Gazette (Exeter) were kind enough to publish in their columns letters requesting information.
Both editor and publisher are grateful to the Mitchell Library for permission to use a microfilm of its copy for the preparation of this reprint.
I have, finally, to thank the Senate of the University of Queensland for granting me research funds for work on this project.
—C.H.
An early work on the colonial printers is James Bonwick: Early Struggles of the Australian Press (London, 1890). The standard work is E. Morris Miller: Pressmen and Governors (Sydney, 1952). With it should be mentioned Miller's pamphlet, which deals with both Savery and Mary Grimstone: Australia's First Two Novels (Hobart, 1958).
Other books of more general interest that deal incidentally with Savery are the Tasmanian Journal of Natural Science (Hobart, 1842); J. West: History of Tasmania (2v., Launceston, 1852); The Australian Encyclopedia (10v., Sydney, 1958); Charles Bateson: The Convict Ships (Glasgow, 1959).
The great authoritative bibliography is J. A. Ferguson: Bibliography of Australia (4v. to date, Sydney, 1941-55).
Contemporary sources are the English newspapers: The Times (London), the Bristol Gazette and Public Advertiser; and the Tasmanian newspapers and periodicals: the Hobart Town Gazette, the Colonial Times, the Tasmanian, the Hobart Town Courier, the Van Diemen's Land Almanack, the Colonist, the Tasmanian and Austral-Asiatic Review. Some correspondence concerning Savery is reprinted in the Historical Records of Australia (series iii, vols. v and vi).
The relevant historical documents of the period come from the normal sources: The Tasmanian Papers (and The Arthur Papers) held in the Mitchell Library, Sydney; Great Britain and Ireland (Home Office, Colonial Office, Navy); some Savery letters (Dr. C. Craig, Launceston; Dr. W. Crowther, Hobart; the Calder papers, State Library of Victoria). The State Library of Tasmania has a card index of the Savery references that are held in its Archives. Mr. F. L. Hill of Paignton. Devon, holds the John Savery manuscript transmitted to Mary Wise Savery Hawkins.
In August 1934 there died in a mental hospital, at an advanced age, Mary Wise Savery Hawkins, penniless and without ascertainable relatives. She had spent, so it was reported, many years of her life and all her resources in trying to prove descent from Sir John Hawkins of Plymouth, the Elizabethan sea-dog.
Among her papers was a document, dated July 24th, 1809, by one John Savery, from whom Mary Hawkins was apparently descended. This manuscript, running to some 180 pages, is John Savery's history of his family from 1501 to 1809. Among the early pages occurs the following passage:
Stephen Savery, eldest Son, and Heir apparent, of the last named Christopher, in the year 1563, married Johanna de Servington; Daughter, and Coheiress of John de Servington, Esquire, of Tavistock, in the County of Devon.
The Family of Servington was of considerable Antiquity, and Consequence, for John de Servington's Ancestor, William de Servington, I find did Twice serve the Office of Sheriff for the County of Devon, in the time of Edward the third to wit in the year 1366 and 1367; being the 40th and 41st of his Reign.
He bore Arms—Erming—a Chevron Azure—charged with three Buck's Heads Cabossd Or—Crest Service Tree, growing out of a Tun. Note—These Arms have, ever since, been us'd with my Family Arms And also the Crest generally, See Antiquities of Exeter, by Isaac, Printed in 1724.
There was another Branch of the Family of De Servington or Servington, settled at Mageston, in the County of Dorset, and, by an Inquisition, taken the 14th of Henry the Eighth it was found that William Servington died seized of the Manor of Whatley, near Froom in the County of Somerset; which he held of the Abbot of Glastonbury and that Nicholas Servington was his Son; and then Nine years of Age.
In the South Aile in Whatley Church, on a rais'd Tomb; lies the Effigy of a Knight in Armour; Cross Legg'd, and Spurr'd—His Hands are in a suppliant posture; close to his Breast.—On the Arm is a Shield whereon is a Chevron, charged with three Bucks Heads caboss'd.—This Effigy was one of the Family of Servington.—I have been thus particular as my Family are descended from this Family; and have continued the Name as a Christian name prefixt to that of Savery; in every Generation to this time.
It is to this connection with the Servingtons that the title of this novel by Henry Savery is due—Quintus Servinton.
More important is the fact that John Savery gives the dates of birth of his numerous offspring, among them Henry Savery.
The date of his birth formerly accepted was 1794. The evidence for this was probably a Register of Burials conducted by the Wesleyan Church, Port Arthur, which has an entry (February 8, 1842) for Henry Savery: "aged 48 years." Different evidence appears in contemporary newspaper accounts of his trial (April 1825), which give thirty-three as his age at that time. This would make his year of birth 1792. His official description in the Tasmanian convict records also gives thirty-three. Such an official description derives from the English prison record, which normally preceded any prisoner transferred from prison to the hulks in the Thames, and which then accompanied him on the voyage out to Tasmania or New South Wales. By the 1820's this procedure, formerly theoretical but often not actual, had become the practice.
This means that in April 1825 Henry Savery was thirty-three years old. But the month remains significant; for if he was born in a later month then he would turn thirty-four in 1825, and this would indicate 1791 as his year of birth.
This is in fact the year given by John Savery in his list of children. Henry Savery is there stated to have been born August 4, 1791.
There remains, however, a point to be checked. Is this John Savery the father of Henry Savery the novelist, or of some other Henry? John Savery in his manuscript history states that he himself was the eldest son of John Savery and Sarah Prideaux, and was born April 21, 1747. Now it is well established that the father of Henry Savery the novelist was a noted Bristol banker of the firm of Savery, Towgood, Yerbury, and Towgood, Wine Street. Newspaper reports always call the father Mr. Savery, but do not give his Christian name. However, A History of Banking in Bristol by C. H. Cave gives this information:
John Savery, who remained in the Bank until business was given up in 1828, was a member of a very old Devonshire family. He was eldest son of John Savery, of Shilston House, near Modbury, Devon, by his wife Sarah, daughter of Walter Prideaux, of Dartmouth: was born in 1747...
This seems conclusive. The John Savery who wrote the history of his family was the Bristol banker, and his son was Henry, the future novelist. And Henry Savery was born August 4, 1791. His place of birth was Butcombe Court, Butcombe, Somerset.
Henry was the sixth son. But as the second son, Servington, died three days after birth, Henry probably considered himself the fifth. Hence the Quintus in Quintus Servinton.
Not much is known of Savery's life until after 1824. Though we now know when he was born and where he was born, we still do not know where he spent his childhood years. As for his schooldays, Morris Miller, using hints from Quintus Servinton, very plausibly conjectures that he was educated at Oswestry Grammar School, where he received a classical and commercial training that showed itself both for better and for worse in his life and his writings.
It is possible that his early manhood was spent in London and that there, probably in 1815, he married Eliza Elliott Oliver, whose father, William Elliott Oliver, was a business man of Blackfriars, London. In this year or a little later Savery and his wife moved to the West of England, where for some years they lived at Stapleton, a few miles from Bristol. Their son, Henry Oliver, was born on June 30, 1816.
Savery engaged in business in Bristol, but even here there is uncertainty in dates and occupations. His father, John Savery, as mentioned earlier, was a prominent member of a Bristol banking firm, which continued in operation until 1828. It seems reasonable to suppose that Henry was helped initially, and probably on later occasions, by his father.
Records from contemporary newspapers and Matthews' Bristol Directory of the period indicate that from 1817 Savery, in conjunction with a partner named Bigg, carried on the business of sugar-refining—or, as it was called then, sugar-baking. This shortly ran into trouble, and in 1819 Savery became bankrupt. The Times of London in its issue of September 1, 1819, reports under its heading, Bankruptcies:
H. Savery, Bristol, sugar refiner, Sept. 13, 14, Oct. 12, at the Commercial-rooms, Bristol: solicitor, Mr. Bigg, Southampton-buildings, Chancery-lane.
Whether this Bigg was Savery's partner is not known; but if, as seems certain, the word solicitor in The Times report has the old meaning of petitioner, then he probably was.
Oddly enough, this mishap does not seem to have curbed Savery's activities. Gallop, in his Chapters in the History of the Provincial Press, states that in August, 1819, Henry Savery assumed the editorship of the Bristol Observer and Gloucester, Monmouth, Somerset and Wiltshire Courier from John Sharp, who had printed it for unnamed proprietors from the first number, August 7, 1817, until his death on August 29, 1819. (The Bristol Mercury for December 13, 1824, states that Savery had some family connection with a proprietor of the Observer.) While holding office as publisher, Savery took over the business of a "West India and General Broker" and marine insurance agent vacated by a Mr. West in Corn Street. On September 9, 1819, an even more imposing sub-title was added to the paper, and it was renamed the Bristol Observer and Gloucester, Somerset, Wiltshire, Monmouth, Brecon and Glamorgan Courier. Savery's last issue was for February 13, 1822: a week later the name of Henry Laurinson appeared in the imprint.
After this excursion Savery returned to his former business as sugar-refiner in partnership with a Mr. Saward.
So far, then, Savery has engaged in a sugar business, which in about two years becomes bankrupt. He next turns to publishing and insurance, and abandons this business, by choice or constraint, two and a half years later. This argues some innate instability or a notable incompetence. The novel he was later to write suggests that he had grandiose ideas, and over-extended the capacity of each firm that was unlucky enough to have him as its guiding spirit.
Many men, one might imagine, would be extinguished emotionally and financially by such reverses. But Savery is immediately back in business as usual. Either he is abnormally resilient or else he receives help each time. The latter possibility is suggested by a remark in The Times of December 20, 1824, in its report of Savery's arrest, which occurred a week or so before that date:
Mr. Savery, the banker, had, unfortunately, on other occasions before this, experienced the painful feelings which arose from filial misconduct.
Savery's third venture was to prove no less unfortunate financially than his first two. In its effects on Savery personally it was to prove immeasurably more calamitous. Once again he proceeded to bite off more than he could chew. He extended operations and entered into engagements that the firm could not meet; but this time money from his father was not to save him.
It was near the end of 1824 that the unstable man was to commit the crowning folly of his life. The full details are complicated and confused. Apparently he had, without the knowledge of his partner, committed the firm beyond its resources. His vanity, we must suppose, would not allow him to confess this indebtedness, so that he had for about two years been negotiating bills with fictitious names and addresses. These were commonly known as "kites," and Savery was under the impression that they did not lay him open to the charge of forgery. The monies that he procured by such means amounted in the end to between £30,000 and £40,000, and the firm had assets covering about two-thirds of the sum. The charge, when it was finally laid, though very lengthy and elaborate in the legal fashion of the period, could be summed up in these terms: that he had feloniously and falsely made, forged, and counterfeited a certain note of hand, dated Birmingham, October 7, 1824, for the sum of £500, with intent to defraud George Smith and his co-partners, trading as John Freeman and Co., the Bristol Copper Company. His other creditors, or victims, refrained from preferring charges.
The discovery of his frauds was for him an unlucky accident. Savery, it is suggested, alarmed by the recent execution of the famous forger Henry Fauntleroy, had decided to decamp. He had already reached London when an irregularity in one of the fraudulent bills happened to be noted in Bristol. This caused his partner Saward to look into the affairs of the company, and to discover, for one thing, that a large stock of sugar invoiced to a creditor Protheroe had by some means been taken from the warehouse and sold to another merchant for a draft of £1500. This draft Savery had taken to London and exchanged for a credit on New York.
Saward set out forthwith in pursuit of his absconding partner. One rumour, true or not, is that (in the prim tones of The Times) Savery "had been accompanied from Bristol by a female of a certain description," had been followed by his wife to Portsmouth, had explained his situation to her, and urged her to return, exclaiming, "Go back, go back! Your route will be traced, and my ruin will be effected." The other account is that he wrote from London attributing his delay to illness. Whereupon his wife and her family left Bristol to attend him. He told them his position and they returned.
At all events Saward met Mrs. Savery at Bath, was told that Savery had already departed for America, but still hopefully continued the pursuit. In London he received information that led him to suspect Savery had not yet gone, but was a passenger on the Hudson, soon to sail from Cowes. The end of the chase was now in sight. Saward engaged a constable at Cowes, and they rowed out to the Hudson, now only thirty minutes from its hour of sailing. From its deck the fugitive, passing under the name of Serrington (so reported but possibly an error for Servington, the family related by marriage), watched their approach with trepidation. They boarded the vessel, and Savery threw himself into the sea. He was rescued, and in agony of mind dashed his head against the walls of the ship repeatedly. They restrained his violence and took him ashore to the Vine Inn. This occurred on December 9.
From then until his committal Savery was on the verge of insanity. Two peace-officers constantly attended him to prevent further acts of self-violence. He was taken back to Bristol by coach, at one time in the depths of despondency, at another singing light songs in an access of elation. They reached Bristol on December 15 and Savery was brought up before the Mayor and the Magistrates at the Guildhall. His incoherence was such that several postponements took place until he was at last, on December 23, committed for trial at the next Assizes.
The account of the trial that Savery gives in the first chapter of the third volume of the novel sticks pretty closely to the facts. He appeared before the Recorder, Lord Gifford, on April 2-4, 1825. When asked by the Clerk of the Arraigns how he pleaded to the charge, Savery replied, "Guilty," a plea that was apparently quite unexpected. The Recorder urged him to reconsider, but without effect. He even warned the prisoner that he should entertain no false hopes in giving such an answer. As if this were not sufficient, Savery was then taken from the courtroom for some minutes so that he might deliberate in quiet. On his return he appeared more collected than before and entered the same plea.
It seems evident that Gifford's warning not to hope that such a plea would gain mercy had passed Savery by. During the judge's comments on the evils of forgery Savery interjected to say that he was not aware that issuing fictitious signatures was subject to the same sentence as forgery. In fact, it seems certain that he had earlier been advised to plead guilty with the assurance that this would save his life. As it happened, it appeared likely to have the opposite effect: Gifford was simply obliged to pass the standard condemnation. He put on the black cap and uttered the customary phrases:
"...my painful duty to pronounce that you, Henry Savery, be taken from hence to the place from whence you came, and thence to the place of execution, and there to be hanged by the neck until you are dead."
Savery's self-possession, already shaken by the judge's remarks, now gave way, and in the words of a contemporary newspaper:
The prisoner, on hearing the latter words, seemed to lose all power of breathing, and dropped down his head.
The verdict took more than Savery by horrified surprise; and George Smith, one of the prosecutors, pressed forward through the crowd by the witness box and asked the judge for mercy—an unusual enough procedure for any prosecutor no matter how nominal. The judge, himself affected, leaned back but made no reply. Amid the dead silence of the crowded courtroom Savery was led away.
The day of execution was later appointed as Friday, April 22.
Matters, of course, did not rest there. Savery had powerful friends, and representations were speedily made to the Home Department. These alone might not have sufficed: personal influence could have been countered on the grounds that others better known than Savery had suffered death for the same offence. But the argument that Savery had been induced to plead guilty, with the certainty of imprisonment instead of a death sentence—this was the chief and, as it proved, the conclusive point in his favour. In a letter to Governor Arthur, over three years later, James Stephen, Counsel at the time to the Colonial Office, and later Under-Secretary for the Colonies, declared: "Mr. Peel, I apprehend, would certainly have left him to die, had it not been for the blunder of the magistrate before whom he was examined." But the days dragged on with no definite news, and Savery must have resigned himself to death despite the reassurances of friends. At last, however, on Thursday, April 21, less than twenty-four hours before the time appointed for the execution, two letters were received at Bristol, one from Peel, Secretary of State for the Home Department, the other from Hobhouse, Under-Secretary of State: the sentence of death was commuted to transportation for life. The Bristol sheriffs, Gardiner and Walker, immediately went to the prison and told Savery the welcome news.
They found him in bed; but, on hearing the grateful intelligence that his life had been spared, he immediately rose, kneeled down, and in fervent accents returned thanks to the Almighty for his deliverance.
Well he might. We are left with the feeling that he was very lucky. His was the one reprieve from execution of a batch of such offenders. His case was closely preceded by that of Henry Fauntleroy, the most notorious forger of his generation. A rake, a bon vivant, a cultivated and witty man with a wide circle of friends, Fauntleroy is thought to have forged notes to the tune of a quarter of a million pounds in his startling career. He was a partner in the banking house of Marsh, Stracey and Co., whose consequent failure had very widespread effects. After an elaborate trial Fauntleroy was executed at Newgate on November 30, 1824, at the age of forty, in the presence, according to reports, of 100,000 spectators.
So there was good precedent for Savery's suffering the same fate. And, as it happened, there were executions for forgery a few years later. In 1828, for instance, the Quaker Joseph Hunton was executed for forging two bills to a total of about £250. The last such execution took place on the last day of 1829—Thomas Maynard, hanged at Newgate. So there were executions before and after. And Savery had actually pleaded guilty.
He remained in prison for three months after his trial, and in the first week of July was transferred with nine or ten other convicts to the Justitia hulk at Woolwich. From the hulk he was embarked on the convict ship Medway, which left Woolwich on July 20 for Sheerness to take on the rest of her convict complement. There, three days later, John Dunmore Lang, the stormy petrel of Presbyterianism in Australia, came aboard. The remainder of the convicts were embarked before the end of the month; the Medway cast anchor about three weeks later; and at some time between August 22 and 25 Land's End sank from view. It was the last sight of England most of those on board were ever to have.
On this vessel of about 450 tons there were 172 male convicts. Its skipper was Borthwick Wight. Its Surgeon Superintendent was Gilbert King, who seven years afterwards was to write a testimonial to Savery's character, saying among other things that Savery had been under his superintendence during the voyage. Indeed, the prisoner seems to have been treated with some consideration during those sixteen weeks afloat. The Colonial Times, announcing the arrival of the Medway at Hobart, made special mention of Savery: "He was treated with the greatest kindness and attention during the voyage, having by order of Government separate accommodation."
Whether he made acquaintance with John Dunmore Lang is uncertain, but likely enough. During the voyage Lang wrote some of the poems that later appeared as Aurora Australis (1826), and in the preface he talks of one prisoner: "I had a conversation with an old German Jew, a prisoner. He was a man of very general information, having received a tolerable education in his youth. He was rather fastidious in the choice of his associates on board ship and had very few acquaintances among his fellow prisoners." There is no mention of Savery, but the two probably conversed. In Quintus Servinton (vol. iii, chapter 4) Savery writes of the "presbyterian divine of the Scotch kirk," who mildly reproached him for laughing at those who were seasick, and who afterwards talked with him repeatedly. This is undoubtedly Lang.
The Medway arrived at Hobart on December 9 or 10 or 11, 1825. Three convicts had died on the voyage. The 169 were landed on December 15, and 125 of them were immediately assigned as servants to settlers.
Among those kept in Government service was Savery. In spite of what the indulgence shown him on the Medway seemed to promise, on arrival he was treated like any other convict. Col. George Arthur, the Lieutenant-Governor of Tasmania from 1824 to 1836, writing to Lord Bathurst on January 27, 1827, noted that...Savary (sic) was subjected to the degradation of being landed in the Prisoners' dress, and, in this disgraceful garb, with his head close shorn, he was conducted to the Common Jail Yard for inspection and assignment with the other miserable outcasts from Newgate, who arrived by the same vessel, a punishment of itself sufficient to fill a mind of ordinary sensibility with horror and remorse for his crimes, and which there was every appearance at the time to believe Savary felt most acutely.
Savery's concern thereafter was to rehabilitate himself—if we understand by the term not merely resuming respectability but in the process gaining some kudos, being recognized as a man of some consequence. This desire to cut a figure, indulged in to the point of recklessness and even illegality (though Savery almost certainly never looked at it like that), was the cause of his arrest, trial, and transportation. The same desire, indulged in more cautiously, was still to bring a great deal of trouble upon him until the last few years of his life, when caution succumbed to desperation and trouble became catastrophe.
He was put into the Colonial Secretary's office, and later into that of the Colonial Treasurer. Such a disposal of an adept man of affairs did not meet with the approval of those colonists who would willingly have paid Savery a handsome salary for his services. Nor did it have the approval of those who were hostile to Lieutenant-Governor Arthur and the authority he exercised. Savery was widely thought of as a tool of the governing group and was very shortly used as a stick with which to beat Arthur. Letters were written to England complaining of the employment of a convict in confidential affairs. The English authorities were forced to take notice.
In a letter of August 2, 1826, Bathurst asked Arthur to explain. Arthur replied effectively on January 27, 1827, pointing out that the complaints were misrepresentations of the position and were concocted by those who wanted Savery as an assigned servant. Savery was under another prisoner in the Colonial Secretary's office and received £18 per annum. Then upon this prisoner being removed Savery received £30 p.a. plus a ration of one pound of bread and one pound of meat. His hours were from 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. (or later if press of work demanded). The use of educated convicts in clerical work, Arthur pointed out, dated from the very inception of the colony and was absolutely unavoidable, since the cost of free labour in such positions would be prohibitive. All that Arthur could do in response to Bathurst's order that Savery be dismissed was to reduce him to his former yearly salary of £18!
This was not the end of the matter. Goderich (August 3, 1827) demanded an explanation of the means whereby Savery, only a month after arriving in the Colony, had managed to procure a certificate of his ability to support his wife and family, which would if approved ensure that they were to be brought out to Tasmania at the public expense. If Savery received only £18 per annum, then some contradiction existed.
Again, how had it come about that Savery was conducting the Government Gazette (i.e. the Hobart Town Gazette)?
Arthur, replying to the second question, denied the charge flatly, and shrewdly commented:
It has been suggested to me, that, as it has been an anxious wish with "Savery" that his Wife and Child should follow him in his exile, and as her Friends have strongly objected to it from his condition, it has been his policy to put the best aspect on his affairs and situation, and therefore it is not improbable he may himself have sent Home a most exaggerated and unfaithful representation of the importance of his station in the Colony.
The question of the Certificate was not so easily disposed of. When Savery landed in the Colony, Captain John Montagu was the Colonial Secretary with H. J. Emmett as his Chief Clerk. Asked for an explanation, Emmett declared that Savery, shortly after his arrival, came one day from the Colonial Secretary's room and said that Montagu considered it proper for Savery to ask for his wife and child to come out. He was to tell Emmett to draw up the usual application. At Savery's request Emmett subjoined the Certificate. (Emmett knew Savery was skilled in accounts and could easily make money in his spare time; Rowland Walpole Lane, for instance, had just declared he would pay liberally for Savery's services.) But now, upon enquiry, Emmett found that Montagu recollected giving no such instruction to Savery. Emmett therefore concluded that it was an invention by Savery, "in part of a scheme to establish generally the idea of his being particularly favoured by the Government of this Colony, through which he might hope to receive a countenance from the Public, which in ordinary circumstances he could not expect."
John Montagu, rather more tolerant in his assessment, emphasized the disappointment and anxiety that Savery was labouring under. He summoned Savery and Emmett, and got from the former his recollection of what had happened. Savery replied that he had asked if his wife could come out to the Colony and if he could then be assigned to her. Montagu informed him that a convict had to be in the Colony a year and the wife had to be of exceptional character. This, said Savery, would present no difficulty: his wife had money and he would send for her immediately. Montagu had replied that it was the best step for Savery to take, and he should have his wife sent out in the usual way. Emmett should be so informed.
Montagu in this report to Arthur denied the last statement, indicating the means by which, if necessary, he could support his denial. On the other hand he felt that Savery was not guilty of any deliberate deception: plagued by feelings of inferiority and worry, he had simply misconstrued Montagu's advice (to send for his wife) into an instruction to tell Emmett to arrange things in the usual way.
Reading these reports, so many years later, one is inclined to wonder if Montagu were not unduly generous. Taking stock of Savery's actions before and after this event, a reader tends to accept Emmett's conclusion. Savery must have been an extremely plausible man. He must have been pleasant to meet, persuasive to listen to. But if a listener had any knowledge of Savery's undertakings and the results that so frequently ensued, then that listener might be wise if he accepted with caution any statements and proposals he heard.
Even undertakings where Savery was apparently above suspicion could be unfortunate. He helped Captain B. B. Thomas in his financial accounts concerned with the Van Diemen's Land Establishment. Dissatisfaction arose among the English directors, and both Thomas and Savery were under suspicion for a time until both were at last cleared of any charges of inefficiency or malpractice.
Even simple personal happenings had their repercussions. Arthur, for instance, became aware early in February, 1828, that Savery had not been working for the Colonial Auditor for several months. Why? Lakeland, Principal Superintendent of Convicts, replied that Savery had his hand bound up and could not perform his usual duties. The Assistant Colonial Surgeon reported that a piece of wood had fallen on Savery's finger. He should not use his hand for months or he might lose the finger. Whereupon (too opportunely?) one George Cartwright in a letter to Lakeland requested that Savery, since he could not write, might be allowed to help his free overseer to superintend some building work. Who, asked Arthur, was this free overseer of Cartwright's? John Oxley by name. A little more information, please. He was formerly a convict, but now had a conditional pardon. Had been transported for housebreaking. Character from gaol—"bad". Character from hulks—no record. How then had Oxley got a pardon?...And so on. It ostensibly concerns Savery very little, all this probing; but it all smacks of what happened so often. When almost any inquiry was made into almost any activity that Savery was engaged in, then explanations tended to be long, involved, and sometimes devious. One feels a sympathy, both illogical and yet very human, with Arthur when on several occasions he vents his doubts whether Savery will really reform.
However, except for official irritation and doubtful glances, Savery himself did not seem to suffer—until the event that his heart desired: the arrival of his wife.
Early in 1828 Mrs. Savery embarked on the Jessie Lawson, its skipper Captain Church. The season was stormy, and the ship was wrecked on the English coast near Plymouth or Falmouth. The passengers were saved. Even the cargo was salvaged and was disposed of, according to the Sydney Gazette of June 4, in Plymouth for the benefit of the underwriters.
For most women this might have been sufficient deterrent; but undaunted Mrs. Savery, after a few months with her parents, ventured again, this time on the Henry Wellesley. On board was Algernon Montagu, who was on his way to Tasmania to become Attorney General. To him, as a sort of guardian, her anxious parents and friends entrusted Mrs. Savery and her son Oliver. Whether the choice was a wise one is doubtful. Montagu seems to have been a headstrong and erratic man, with odd romantic notions. James Stephen, writing to Arthur from Downing Street on April 24, 1829, retails the impression that three or four meetings with Montagu produced on him.
He appeared to me a raw young man quite unaccustomed to business, and very likely to give himself up to various affectations of sentiment, romantic feeling, and literary taste. I say affectations, not because I have any right to distrust the genuineness of the tone in which he talked, but because there was in his manner something that looked artificial and made-up, and which conveyed the impression of borrowed manners...
For about eighteen weeks Montagu was to be Mrs. Savery's constant companion.
Whether any attachment sprang up on either side is not known, but it seems that some people in the Colony later looked askance on the relationship. Sarah Benson Walker (1812-1893), dictating her reminiscences in 1884, ambiguously said of Mrs. Savery:
She came out in the vessel with Judge Montagu who afterwards lived at Kangaroo Point. She lived at the Macquarie and Montagu lived there. There was a book written about the affair, called "Quintus Servinton."
What does seem most probable, however, is that a contrast was underlined for Mrs. Savery. She had been on shipboard for a number of months in the company of a young man of some attainments and of assured social position about to take up an elevated judicial post. When she arrived in Tasmania she was to find her husband still a convict, with not even a ticket of leave, and with a threat of imprisonment for debt hanging over his head. Her dissatisfaction and disappointment must have been extreme. And her reaction, one suspects, may have been resentment rather than pity—for she had been led to expect something quite different.
It seems beyond doubt that the accounts that Savery sent her of his position in the Colony and of his material conditions had been thoroughly misleading. This estimate is supported by a letter of August 1, 1829, from Arthur to Sir George Murray, in which, referring to Mrs. Savery, he writes:
This lady, it appears, is most respectably connected in England, and, allured by the gross misrepresentations of her Husband as to the comfort of his situation in this Colony, she, unfortunately, ventured to join him. Wounded by the shameful duplicity which had been practised upon her, some domestic misunderstanding took place immediately after her debarkation...
It is all of a piece. Acutely disappointed at his treatment, Savery took every opportunity of inflating his importance in the eyes of the colonists, whether bond or free. We may recall, for instance, in an earlier passage, Emmett's comments on Savery's motives and methods in getting his certificate a few weeks after he arrived in Tasmania.
The deception had results that were almost fatal. The Henry Wellesley reached Hobart on October 30 or 31, 1828. What quarrels or misunderstandings took place between Mrs. Savery and her husband can only be conjectured, but these must have been poignant. A week after her arrival, on the evening of Friday, November 7, Savery attempted suicide by cutting his throat. Luckily for him, help was at hand: Dr. William Crowther was summoned, and Savery's life was preserved.
His recovery was not the end of his troubles. The writ that was pending now seemed likely to involve his wife, who had brought out some property with her. She appealed to Algernon Montagu, who agreed to meet the demand provided that nothing was done that would prove distressing to Mrs. Savery. But the creditors nevertheless initiated action that threatened her possessions, and Henry Jennings requested Montagu to fulfil his verbal assurances. Montagu—quite reasonably, one feels—declared himself under the circumstances no longer bound by his former promise. The further development of this affair, which resolved itself into a series of bitter quarrels between Jennings and Montagu—intemperate letters, an abortive libel action, publication of correspondence in the newspapers, appeals to Arthur, and so forth—hardly concerns us. But the writ against Savery brought about his imprisonment on December 19.
Mrs. Savery was now in a sorry plight—her husband in prison for debt with no prospect of early release, herself dependent on monies from England (for Montagu, even if willing, could hardly provide for her financially)—and saw no solution in the Colony for her problems. She was advised to return to England. This she did. Some time between February 10 and 15, 1829, hardly more than three months after her arrival, she left with her son on the Sarah. Savery never saw her again. In September, 1832, a few months after he received his ticket of leave, he filled in an application at the Colonial Secretary's Office to have her brought out on a free passage. She did not respond.
Savery remained in prison until March, 1830, a period of fifteen months. He suffered no particular physical hardships during his imprisonment, but enforced leisure must have been irksome to a man so prone to activity of almost all kinds. He occupied the latter half of 1829, we may gratefully note, in writing; for it was in those six months that he produced his most engaging work, The Hermit of Van Diemen's Land. It consisted of a series of thirty sketches of Hobart life and characters, longer than Goldsmith's essays in The Citizen of the World, but with a general resemblance to them. They appeared in Andrew Bent's Colonial Times as by "Simon Stukeley." The names given to the characters depicted were of course fictitious, but a contemporary key has been preserved. An advertisement of January 8, 1830, in the Colonial Times announced the publication of these sketches in a volume, but a week later this was modified to say that publication was suspended until an impending libel suit based on the Hermit articles should be disposed of.
The suit was brought on May 10, 1830—Gamaliel Butler v. Andrew Bent. Butler was awarded £80 damages against the publisher. Savery's name was not mentioned in the case, for the authorship of the Hermit articles was a well-preserved secret. Indeed today, but for Henry Melville, the Hobart printer and publisher, we should not know that Savery wrote them. In the British Museum copy of The Hermit of Van Diemen's Land a sheet has been inserted on which Melville ascribes to Savery the authorship of the Hermit articles and also of Quintus Servinton. This notation by Melville, as reproduced below, is the only evidence that we possess that names Savery. But there is no reason to doubt Melville's ascription.
Henry Savery a merchant of Bristol was about the year 1825 transported for forgery and was a crown prisoner when in jail in 1829. In the same jail in Hobart Town was Thomas Wells incarcerated for common debt. Savery wrote all the Hermit and Wells copied for the printer. At that time if the authorities knew that a prisoner wrote for the press the punishment was transportation to the penal establishment of Macquarie Harbour. Hence arose the mystery about the authorship of the Hermit! I believe all the parties mentioned except myself are in spirit land. On obtaining his ticket of leave Savery became a great Agriculturalist and failed. He again committed forgery and was sent to the penal settlement of Port Arthur where he destroyed his life by cutting his own throat. He was the author of Quintus Servinton of which he is the hero. The undersigned printed the work and was at the time the editor, printer & proprietor of the Colonial Times newspaper. The writing page 141 is that of Andrew Bent from whom the undersigned bought the Colonial Times and printing establishment in 1829.
Henry Melville
Nov. 1869.
Early in 1830 Savery was released and was assigned to Major Macintosh in the New Norfolk district. An annotation by Arthur of March 16 runs:
If Savory (sic) be discharged from Jail, I wish Him to be assigned to Major Macintosh, with the positive condition that He is to reside at his Farm in the neighbourhood of N. Norfolk—is not to be allowed to Trade or be employed on his own account in any way.
The stipulation is ominous—an indication of Arthur's exasperation, which Savery, often unwittingly, had aroused, and also of his distrust.
It must have been in the later months of his imprisonment and during his retirement, as we may put it, with Macintosh that he wrote Quintus Servinton, of which this volume is a reprint. Advertisements appeared in January, 1831, in the Hobart Town Courier and in the Tasmanian to say that the novel was in the press and would shortly be published in three volumes octavo; and that as it was printed expressly for transmission to England, only a few copies would be reserved for sale in the Colony. The first of these papers reviewed it on March 19:
We have read the new novel, Quintus Servinton, and though it cannot certainly claim the first rank among the many eminent works of a similar kind of the present day, it is very far from being discreditable to us as a first production of the kind in these remote regions...The story is written in an easy and in some parts elegant and affecting style, and with those who know and can identify the hero, will be read with considerable interest...we must add our regret that the language in some parts is not only loosely expressed, but in a few, not even grammatical, a fault which however venial in the hasty productions of the newspaper press, admits of no excuse in a work of this kind...
This comment reads a little odd to us today: the prose of the novel is grammatical enough, but few would call it "easy" or "elegant."
In 1831 Savery, by his own account, did some writing for Henry Melville's Van Diemen's Land Almanack. What this was is uncertain, but he possibly contributed the historical section or, more probably, wrote or revised the gardening notes.
In January, 1832, he submitted a petition for some relaxation of severity, and this he accompanied with over seventy testimonials from all kinds of people. These comments fall into two groups—those that briefly and formally recommend Savery, and those of greater length that make mention of Savery's character and actions, and of the acquaintance of the writers with Savery's family in England. One from James Grant refers to Quintus Servinton:
I think I know more of his principles from his writings than any other source, and will here quote the observation I made audibly on closing the book after reading thro'—"If Mr. Savery wrote this Book he cannot be a bad man, and I think he had atoned for his offence against Public Justice."
The Colonial Secretary replied favourably on May 31, and on June 5, between six and seven years after his arrival in Tasmania, Savery received his ticket of leave.
A year later he was deprived of it in a manner that may seem to us rather arbitrary. James Gordon, a police magistrate in the Richmond area, was suspended for "non-payment of fees and fines...for applying the public money to his own use." Gordon apparently was engaged in the practice of lending money to his constables, receiving their salaries in return, and inducing them to buy food and clothing from him (or his agent). He protested against his suspension, received no redress, and published the correspondence in a pamphlet. This was reviewed in the Tasmanian of March 1, 1833, and certain comments were made on Gordon's motives and behaviour, among them this:
...although we are by no means inclined to accuse Mr. Gordon of any dishonesty in the business, his own letters convict him of a disreputable bias towards "filthy lucre."
At the time this review appeared, Henry Melville, the printer of the Tasmanian, was absent. Savery, who had for some time been his assistant, was looking after the paper. This gave Gordon his opportunity. Bitterly resentful of Arthur and the authorities, he decided to use against them Order no. 41 of July 9, 1828, which forbade any convict to write for the newspapers. The Order, once used by Arthur in his campaign against Andrew Bent, was now to be used against Arthur himself. Gellibrand, Gordon's lawyer, was instructed to bring out the fact that the authorities now winked at the breaking of this Order. Gordon laid a complaint against Savery, who was charged at the Police Office on May 30 that, being a convict holding a ticket of leave, he had inserted in the Tasmanian an article tending to traduce the character of Gordon—all being contrary to the Order mentioned. The three magistrates, M. Forster, Josiah Spode and James England, ordered Savery to be deprived of his ticket of leave for twelve months.
The whole affair was a tissue of cross-purposes and miscalculations. The unfortunate Savery had not written the review. It was the product of one Thomas Richards, who had come out, a free man, not very long before. Richards wrote to admit his authorship, and absolved Savery of blame. But Savery, as it happened, had not been penalized for editing a newspaper or for writing the review. Both Forster and Spode, in letters to Arthur, declared that Savery was punished not because he had violated Order no. 41 but because he had spoken disrespectfully of Gordon, a Legislative Councillor and the oldest magistrate in the Colony. The Executive Council, reporting on the affair about a week later, stressed that this had not come out at the trial, that Savery had known nothing of it, and therefore had no reason to offer evidence in rebuttal. Consequently he ought to have his ticket of leave restored. We know that it was restored, but it apparently took a little time.
The worst sufferer was Gordon himself. By carelessness (or in treachery by Gellibrand) there was left in the Police Office the brief that contained Gordon's instructions to his lawyer, Gellibrand. This made clear, in Forster's words, that Gordon had brought suit "in order to establish a false accusation made against the government of its sanctioning convicts having the control of the Newspaper press." The Executive Council condemned Gordon with some relish, and wrote to him saying that it had concluded he was no longer fit to be a member of the Legislative Council and a magistrate, and that all the documents in the case would be forwarded to the Secretary of State.
Aiming at Arthur, Gordon had temporarily crippled Savery and had severely wounded himself. There were no punches pulled in political squabbles in early Tasmania.
From this time until 1838, the year when the last phase of Savery's troubled career began, references and records are sporadic. It is interesting to note the considerable legal activity of which he had, directly or indirectly, already been the cause: his own trial, the Van Diemen's Land Establishment dispute, the Montagu and Jennings suits, the Butler v. Bent libel action, the Gordon v. Savery case. One might think that Savery would have had his fill of litigation. But in the next five years on occasion actions were not only brought against him but also initiated by him. All concerned money. William Lindsay, William Gibbins, and Maurice Smith were three of those with whom he had legal brushes.
All this time he continued his work in agriculture, and leased farms that he proceeded to develop. There survive, for instance, two letters in which he offers his advice to Arthur on the improvement of soil. Writing from The Lawn Farm (in the New Norfolk district) on November 24, 1834, he points out that Arthur's farm, directly opposite, is covered with water weeds. He suggests that his own methods, quite different from those normally employed, may serve. Arthur either wrote asking further advice or else granted him an interview, for in a second letter dated December 4, 1834, Savery says he has inspected Arthur's property and thinks the solution may be numerous deep drains dividing up the fields into small plots together with lime dressing on some fields. He concludes by insisting that his only motive for thus intruding upon Arthur's attention is his own interest in agriculture, a profession which he feels has been neglected.
Savery's final troubles began in 1838, when in February Thomas Young, attorney for Reuben Joseph, petitioned that Savery be declared insolvent. The proceedings, repeatedly postponed month after month, must have weighed on Savery's mind, and it seems likely that in these last years he took to drink. From a report of a meeting of creditors after his death, for instance, there emerges news of a debt to William Montgomerie, licensed victualler. Though this may have been incurred for other needs than liquor, it appears significant enough.
Despite all this, there were a few bright patches. In March of the same year he received his conditional pardon. His interest in agriculture, marked throughout his years in the Colony, had its last manifestations. In May he took over a farm at Hestercombe from one Dunn, under an agreement that Savery was to be, as it were, on probation for a year. If the improvements he contracted to make were satisfactory, then he would be granted a six-year lease at a rental of £160 per annum for the first three years and of £190 for the next three.
But any hopes he had of rehabilitating himself were delusive, for this very project, so it seems, was among the causes of his ultimate fall. He sank deeper and deeper into debt, signed bills with little hope of meeting them, renewed them, and paid them by bills drawn on others. As if this were not enough, minor worries tormented him. Early in 1839 he had some trouble over a pass he had given his assigned servant, granting him permission to leave the farm and stay away overnight. Perhaps because of this, added to doubts of his suitability, near the end of the same year the Board of Assignment refused him an assigned servant in spite of his plea that it was essential for him to have one.
The burden grew heavier. Savery apparently became neglectful even of correspondence. The Hobart Town Gazette, for instance, listed him as one of those for whom unclaimed letters were being held at the General Post Office for the quarters ending March and June of 1839. At last the wretched man cracked. In desperation, we must suppose, he resorted to the device that had been the original cause of his downfall—he signed fictitious bills.
Detection came near the end of 1840. The Hobart Town Courier for September 4 announced:
During the week, forged bills to a considerable extent have been detected. The offender is the well known Mr. Savery. Report states that he has fled via Launceston, and shipped himself for Adelaide.
But report erred. On Tuesday, September 29, he was arrested in Hobart Town, was examined at the Police Office two days later, and was remanded.
On October 29 he was brought up for trial before the same Algernon Montagu who had acted as the protector of Mrs. Savery on her voyage out to Tasmania. The witnesses were Richard Cooke and Josiah Austin, and there was a jury of seven. Savery pleaded not guilty to the charge of uttering a forged acceptance with intent to defraud Richard Cooke. The jury brought in the expected verdict of guilty, and Montagu addressed the prisoner in terms of severe condemnation: "I will not, however, so far stultify myself as to suppose ...reformation will be shown by you..." The sentence was: Transportation beyond the sea for life.
This generally meant, for Tasmanian offenders, imprisonment in the penitentiary at Port Arthur, the grim group of buildings on Tasman's Peninsula, controlled at that time by Captain Charles O'Hara Booth, an administrator capable, forceful, just, and inflexible. Thither Savery was transported.
Fifteen months later he was dead.
His death, unlike his birth, still presents a puzzle. The note by Henry Melville in the British Museum copy of The Hermit in Van Diemen's Land, reproduced in this volume, contains the laconic statement that Savery "was sent to the penal settlement of Port Arthur where he destroyed his life by cutting his own throat." This seems definite enough; and we should now certainly believe this account but for David Burn, the first Australian dramatist.
On January 6, 1842, Burn embarked at Hobart with a few others on the schooner Eliza for a tour of Port Arthur. On Sunday, January 9, he saw Savery. Here are the relevant parts of Burn's story:
From the cells we went to the hospital, where we had a signal opportunity of drawing a wholesome moral from the sad—the miserable consequences of crime. There, upon a stretcher, lay Henry Savary (sic), the once celebrated Bristol sugar-baker—a man upon whose birth Fortune smiled propitious, whose family and kindred moved in the very first circles, and who himself occupied no inconsiderable place in his fellow-citizens' esteem.
Burn goes on to give an outline sketch of Savery's trial and his life in Van Diemen's Land, where eventually he was...subjected to the ordeal of Port Arthur. There he experienced a shock of paralysis, and there ere long, in all human probability, the misguided man will terminate his wretched career.
It has been said by the slanderers of the Colony that vice makes converts. I would that my ancient antagonist, His Grace of Dublin, or even his ally of the Colonial Gazette, could have stood, as I did, by Savary's pallet—could have witnessed the scarce-healed wound of his attenuated throat—the lack-lustre glare of his hollow eye: I think even they would have felt inclined to doubt the syren's blandishments. Knowing, as I once did at Bristol, some of Savary's wealthy, dashing, gay associates, I could not contemplate the miserable felon before me without sentiments of the deepest compassion mingled with horror and awe. There he lay, a sad—a solemn warning.
All this occurred only a month before Savery's death on February 6, 1842. He was buried two days later by the Wesleyan minister at Port Arthur, the Rev. John Allen Manton, whose notebook has the entry:
Tuesday February 8th. Today I have committed to the grave the remains of Henry Savery, a son of one of the first bankers in Bristol, but his end was without honour.
There are a few questions one would like answered. Was Savery still suffering the "shock of paralysis" when Burn saw him, and if so, did he recover from it and cut his throat? It seems unlikely. Again, what does Burn mean by "the scarce-healed wound of his attenuated throat"? Does he mean "lately-healed" or "badly-healed"? If the first, then Savery must have attempted suicide at Port Arthur; if the second, then Burn probably refers to the scar left by the attempt in 1828.
There remains the assertion by Henry Melville that Savery died by cutting his throat. But it should be remembered that in 1869 Melville was writing twenty-seven years after Savery's death. On the other hand Melville was usually accurate. And Dr. Crowther of Hobart has pointed out to me that suicide attempts are often repetitive. Savery made two early attempts—by drowning, by cutting his throat. A third attempt was likely enough.
We are left then with three possibilities: that the "shock of paralysis" was the symptom of a "stroke" that caused his death; that after Burn's visit Savery did cut his throat; that he cut his throat before Burn's visit and that this and some other malady produced his paralysis and later his death. I incline to the first explanation, and think that a lapse of Melville's memory (he was sixty-nine when he wrote the note on Savery) transferred the suicide attempt of 1828 to the Port Arthur period. But this is speculation, and it seems unlikely that we shall ever know for certain.
The events of Savery's life and the autobiographical novel he has left us give some insight into the man. He was, so far as can be learned, not striking in appearance. All we gain from the prison record is that he was five feet eight inches in height, and that he had brown hair and hazel eyes. But he was not commonplace in temperament.
His fraud discovered by chance, his escape frustrated by half-an-hour, his condemnation caused by a misunderstanding, his life preserved within twenty-four hours of execution, his wife saved from shipwreck only to wreck his marriage, lawsuits brought against him because of accidents of time and place, mishaps in business, bad luck or bad management in farming, and finally debt and forgery and his last condemnation—it all presents a multicoloured picture. Henry Savery was, we may think, accident-prone.
On the other hand he was not a mere pawn without control over his movements. His own estimates of his character, found at various points in the novel, seem fairly penetrating and objective, and they differ in this respect from his accounts of the events that happened. In such recountals he tidies up the truth, he prunes a trifle, adds a little here and there, and the result is not quite the actuality itself. He presents himself as more innocent than he was. And yet his self-portrayal, when in the form of an estimate, is very near the truth. He was a man—and he recognizes this—who depended on façade. He had to be doing things, and he liked to be recognized as responsible for these. This brashness never left him. He was subdued by his experiences as a convict in Tasmania, but up to the last few years before his final arrest he still sought recognition: his letters to Arthur offering advice in farming appear to me indications of this unextinguished thirst.
He was, I think, often devious and secretive in his dealings—but hopeful of outcome and not unmindful of the claims of others. He was also, I suspect, prone to assertiveness if not arrogance, and when he had power he used it—but he always felt sure that his enemy had attacked first or at any rate deserved what he got. He had the family pride of birth and he was proud in himself. He always overbid his hand, a practice which in his earlier years was forgiven for a time until the impersonal forces of law weighed acts and not motives. But experience did not teach him. After a time he was deceiving himself more than others. Lieutenant-Governor Arthur, perhaps in exasperation at the trouble that Savery had unwittingly caused him, wrote to Goderich on December 27, 1827: "Savery is a Man of whose real reformation, notwithstanding the strong testimonials of his conduct from Home and in this Colony, I have but a very faint hope."
And yet he must have possessed considerable charm. He had, as David Burn put it, a circle of "dashing, gay associates" in Bristol; he could, it is reasonable to deduce from the evidence, persuade his father to forgive him a great deal; he was loved sincerely by his wife, who despite one shipwreck was willing to risk another and come out to Tasmania to join him; and he was able to extract glowing testimonials from friends and acquaintances even after conviction and further lawsuits. It is not too harsh to suggest that apart from successful ingenuity and a practised bravado he had many of the qualifications of the confidence-man.
The picture Savery gives in Quintus Servinton is then mostly true in analysis of what he was, less true in description and narration of what he did. There is not, we may be thankful, much tearful contrition or whining exculpation. It is a good human document.
As a work of literature, though it is not likely to occupy any high position, it has its claims on our attention. It is for instance the first Australian novel—the first story dealing in any measure with Australia written by an inhabitant. There are one or two earlier stories, for instance Alfred Dudley; or, the Australian Settlers (1830) by an unknown author in England, who claims to have drawn his information from "the kind communications of a gentleman who resided for some time in Australia," but these can hardly be called Australian novels. As for Mary Grimstone's Woman's Love, a romantic tale set in England, it was, as Morris Miller points out, mostly written in Hobart during her three years there (March 1826 to February 1829), was revised in England 1830-1, and published in 1832, a year after Savery's novel appeared. Quintus Servinton holds its position by setting, date of publication, and residence of the author.
It is also valuable and interesting for its picture of convict life as experienced by the educated convict, and here it affords a contrast and a complement to such a narrative as Ralph Rashleigh, in which James Tucker paints a sombre picture of the brutality that can crush the convict of humble birth and little education who is put to manual tasks.
And last, simply as a novel, it still has power to tell a story. It has its obvious defects: it is often long-winded, and its general comments on life in general can become tiresome; and its style is to our ears intolerably orotund. It is interesting to note that, though written about ninety years after Fielding's earliest novel, it is more formal in diction and seems today more old-fashioned. And yet, in spite of these handicaps, it can persuade a reader to turn the pages and want to know what is coming next. The pictures it gives of English provincial life and even the accounts of business dealings in England are—for some readers at any rate—fascinating in their details. The narrative power is characteristic of a great deal of our fiction of last century; many greater novels of this century seem not to have it in the same degree.
Let not the Readers of Quintus Servinton adopt an unfavorable impression towards it, because the author has thought fit to depart from a custom now-a-days in fashion, and to prefix to his publication a few introductory observations, calculated, he conceives, to act the Master of the Ceremonies, and to bring his pretensions before the world under more favourable auspices, than he might otherwise be justified in anticipating.
First, then, as to the tale itself. Although it appears under this shape,—or, as some may perhaps call it, novel,—it is no fiction, or the work of imagination, either in its characters or incidents. Not by this, however, is it pretended to be said that all the occurrences it details, happened precisely in their order of narration, nor that it is the mere recital of the events of a man's life—but it is a biography, true in its general features, and in its portraiture of individuals; and all the documents, letters and other papers contained in its pages are transcripts, or nearly so, of originals, copied from the manuscript, which came into the author's hands in the manner described in the introductory chapter.
Thus much for the subject of the Work. Now, for a few words of a more personal nature, as respects him by whom it is written. It was not wholly a desire of fame, nor the hope of profit, nor, he trusts, an over-weening vanity, that led the author to "o'erstep the modesty of nature," and venture to compose a book; but it was the idea that he might convey useful and instructive precepts under their most attractive guise—the force of example. Let him not be understood, however, as wishing to convey that he feels indifferent upon the point, either of honor or of a fair remuneration for his time; for, were he regardless of the first, he might be enticed into a careless laxity, quite irreconcilable with prudence on the part of one, who treads so dangerous and uncertain a path as that of Literature, when intended for the amusement of others; and so far as the second is concerned, there are few, similarly circumstanced to the Author—whose chief dependence is the allegiance due to his King and Country, who can afford to consider it altogether immaterial, whether they devote many long and wearisome hours to an employment, "free, gratis, and all for nothing," or, whether they reap some advantage from their labours. Perhaps, therefore, each of the inducements has had some weight in the production of Quintus Servinton. But, alas! so little do we know what is before us—so abortive are our plans oft rendered by the events of an hour, equally unexpected as beyond our controul, that when the manuscript of the following pages was nearly completed, and ready to be placed in the hands of the Printer, orders arrived for embarkation on a distant service. What course therefore remained open? Either to employ the many and tiresome hours of a passage from England to this distant Colony, in the completion of the work, and then to send the manuscript home for publication, subject to all the inconveniences that must have inevitably attended such a plan, and which are as well known to authors as the want of the last touch—the last finish, would be understood and lamented, by the professors of the various branches of the Arts and Sciences; or to defer till a return to Europe, the ushering into existence the fruit of his labours. Most unexpectedly, however, the termination of the voyage removed one very great difficulty; for, by the extraordinary progress that has been made, in adapting this little speck upon the Southern Ocean, to the wants and necessities of Englishmen, it was found easily practicable to print and publish an octavo work, in Van Diemen's Land.
It may be hoped that the mere circumstance alone, of Quintus Servinton's being the first publication of this nature, that has ever issued from a Colonial Press, may induce a favourable reception of the undertaking, both here and in England; particularly, when it is borne in mind, that this Press exists in one of the most recently formed of the English Colonies. The Author has not to learn that he requires some such extraneous help, towards supplying the numerous demands upon the patience of the reader which, he fears, will be found to pervade his pages; and when he adds, that the style of composition is entirely new to him, he is aware how much further occasion he has to solicit indulgence for his temerity in entering an arena, where a mighty genius has latterly presided, chasing from the very precincts, all, whose pretensions do not exceed mediocrity.
Still, is he not dismayed; because, strip him even of all other laurels, he defies the hand that may be lifted against the moral tendency of his tale; and he has not now to learn the great influence this ever has, in creating favor with the British Public. Had time and occasion served, perhaps he could have made the work more perfect in its form, its style, and language; yet, the correctness of its details could not have been improved. Such as it is, therefore, he entrusts it with some degree of confidence, to the countenance and support of the English Nation.
Van Diemen's Land, 1830
Books, my dear girl, when well design'd,
Are moral maps of human kind——
Where, stretched before judicious eyes,
The road to worth and wisdom lies.
BISHOP
Which of my readers chances to be acquainted with the beautiful scenery of the South of Devonshire? and which, being so acquainted, recollects where the Dart, gliding its limpid way between Dartmouth and Totness, waters a range of fertile meadows, interspersed every here and there by a thickly tufted knoll, from whose eminence the picturesque windings of the clear stream, seen at a short distance under its lofty cliffs, give to the prospect an appearance, more interesting and more romantic, than even a poet could describe? If there be any such, let his recollection be carried a little farther, and perhaps it may present to him a spot, nearly equidistant from the two towns, where, in the centre of a lawn, gently shelving towards the river, flanked on the rear by a luxuriantly wooded hill, on one side by a continuous tract of rich pastures, and on the other by a lane, conducting the traveller to the village of Appleford, stands a remarkably handsome cottage, immediately surrounded by a shrubbery, kept in the highest order, and communicating with the lane by a wicket, that opens upon a smooth, wide gravel road, leading to the front door, whence it again turns with a sweep, to the offices in the rear of the building.
The cottage itself is small, but singularly attractive in its appearance, from the tasty manner of laying out the grounds around it, evidently denoting that elegance and excellent management preside within its walls, under their fairest shape and form. Along its front is a veranda, clinging to whose pillars, the climatis and passion flower vie in their endeavours to add to the beauty of the place. Close to the house, are jessamines, honey-suckles, and China roses, in luxuriant profusion, almost concealing the stucco with which the walls are covered. On different parts of the grass plot in front, which has been brought by constant mowing and rolling, to be as smooth as velvet, are flower-beds, stored with all the choicest productions of the country; rose-bushes trained along the ground by layers, and at various distances, flowering and other shrubs, attaining great size and perfection, from the peculiarly mild and salubrious climate where they have been planted.
Towards this charming spot, accident led me one fine day at the latter end of last August, and introduced to my knowledge a variety of circumstances connected with its inhabitants, which struck me as being sufficiently extraordinary, to induce my becoming an author; although, so far as my readers are concerned, they doubtless might have been benefitted, had the chance that befel me, occurred to many, rather than myself.
Tempted by the extreme beauty of the scenery in this sequestered valley, I was rambling, attended only by a favourite spaniel, led on by that silent meditation ever sacred to the sylvan God, stopping every now and then, and endeavouring by my pencil, to sketch the alternate grand and lowly, but every where romantic landscape, when the short, quick bark of Dash, announced that he had started game; and I almost immediately saw him pursuing a hare through an adjoining corn-field, deaf to my calls, and regardless of my repeated summons to return. Unwilling to be deemed a trespasser by the neighbouring farmers, yet finding all endeavours to reclaim the truant ineffectual, I was making my way after him, full of bitterness and wrath, and had ascended one of the high banks, for which the hedges in that part of the country are remarkable, when, in jumping to the ground, upon the opposite side, my foot slipped, and I fell, unable to move, presently finding that I had disclocated my ancle.
Entirely a stranger, and in complete ignorance with regard to the proximity of any dwelling, my repeated cries for assistance were made rather in fear, than hope, and their echoes reverberating from the rocky cliffs of the river, fell on my ear, solemn and melancholy in the extreme. Hour after hour thus passed on, and notwithstanding I hallooed and bawled until perfectly hoarse, no friendly response relieved my anxiety—no passing traveller appeared to cheer and encourage me; and when at length, the golden tints of the sun, as it approached the western horizon, were reflected upon the foliage of the trees, at a short distance, changing their hue from time to time, according to its progressive descent, the splendid scene which at other times would be calculated to afford a delightful interest, now created in my breast, a chilling sickness, mingled with horror, and the most gloomy apprehensions, not only so far as personal sufferings were concerned, but as to my very existence.
While thus enduring the most agonising solicitude, a whistle, and immediately afterwards a voice, calling out, "Rose! Rose! here, here, come here, you little Snap!" rewarded my long and anxious listening; and raising myself, in the best manner I was able, and once more essaying to be heard, although I had nearly lost my voice by previous ineffectual exertions, I had the inexpressible delight of seeing a human being, within a couple of hundred yards of me, and presently afterwards, of observing that I was noticed.
Let those who have ever experienced an unlooked for deliverance in the hour of need, for no other can, enter into, and sympathise with my feelings, when, in the course of a minute or two, a handsome boy, apparently twelve or thirteen years of age, followed by his two dogs, made his appearance. His dress, and general appearance, marked him a Gentleman's son; and the survey I obtained of his features as he approached, gave me cause equally to admire their regularity, as their sweet expression. His eyes were dark and full, set off by thick auburn hair, and a bright, fair complexion. Across his shoulder was hung a fishing basket; in one hand he carried a rod and line, and in the other, a small bag. Never shall I forget his beautiful cast of countenance, during the few moments that he listened to my tale of misery; indeed, he would barely allow me to finish, ere he exlaimed with a tone and expression, all his own, "My Grandpapa and Grandmamma live just across these two fields, under the wood, and I'll run and tell them. My Grandmamma is so good and kind, I'm sure she'll take care of you;" then, without allowing me time to reply, away he bounded with the rapidity of a young deer.
I was scarcely able to compose my fluttered spirits under this happy change of prospects, when, still looking in the direction my youthful deliverer had taken, I saw him returning, holding the hand of a Gentleman, and closely followed by two men carrying a hand-barrow, on which were placed cushions. The Gentleman was of middle stature, and fair, with brown hair, a good deal mingled with gray; although time did not appear to have alone had a hand in this, as his age did not strike me as exceeding sixty; and his walk was firm and erect. In his general appearance and mode of salutation there was a certain concomitant of good birth, which is always easy and polite, and it was quite evident that he had seen much of the world—on his brow sat melancholy and care, softened by resignation—there was nothing stern about him; on the contrary, a mildness, a placidity distinguished his expression, but yet there was a something about the eye, betraying that his mind had been torn by early storms. I attempted to apologise, but he instantly stopped me. "I have known myself, Sir, what a friend is, in the hour of need, and God forbid I should ever withhold that, which I have freely received. Olivant, my dear boy," addressing the child, "run home and tell your Grandmamma we are coming, Sir," continued he, again addressing me, "the very best woman in the world, at least, I think her so, will do every thing your accident requires—allow me the honor of assisting you on the barrow. Thomas, carry the Gentleman as easily as you can, and let us make homewards."
Proceeding in this way, it was not long until we had accomplished my painful journey;—painful, I may indeed say, for notwithstanding every precaution, my agony was intense. At the door, we were met by a Lady, perhaps some years younger than the Gentleman, and one single look induced me to yield a willing assent to the commendation, I had heard bestowed on her. "Emily my dearest," said my friendly guide, "I have brought you a patient; this Gentleman has dislocated his ancle."
"We had better send instantly for Mr. Setwell," replied the Lady; "in the meantime, pray use the drawing-room."
It had been already strictly enjoined me, not to be ceremonious, nor to attempt to control whatever was proposed for my relief. I therefore gratefully, but tacitly yielded to the steps thus taken, and being carried into a nicely furnished room, was carefully laid upon the sofa. So soon as I was sufficiently at ease, to cast my eyes around me, I had abundant cause to acquiesce in the justice of the attributes ascribed, both by Grandfather and Grandson (for so my two deliverers appeared to be,) to the Lady of the house; every thing exhibiting marks of that refinement of ideas, peculiar to the female taste and character; and presently the entrance of the Lady herself, allowed me a farther opportunity of estimating her character. Surely, if woman's praises were ever justly due, they belong to this amiable, and excellent creature. In her youth she must have been eminently handsome; but what is that, compared with the heavenly expression of the mind, visibly pourtrayed by all the lines of her countenance? I could trace a strong resemblance between this Lady, and her beautiful Grandson; although it was also easy to discover the affinity of the Grandfather. It might be tedious and uninteresting, to detail all the occurrences of the fortnight I spent under the roof of this hospitable couple, ere my removal was permitted. In return for the card I early put into the hands of my friendly host, he simply gave me to understand, that his name was Quintus Servinton; that the Lady was his wife, and the youth, one of the children of an only son, who resided at a distance. The course of events, daily brought us better acquainted; and, if at first, I had reason to admire and esteem the Lady, I absolutely venerated her, before I took my leave; with respect too, to her husband, his fond devotion, and evident strong attachment both to her and his Grandson, who was really a charming, well-behaved child, added to many other little traits of character I observed, so counteracted an occasional tendency to pettishness, which would now and then peep through his calm melancholy, that I quite loved and respected him, and felt sincerely for his sorrows, without knowing their cause; in a word, I became attached to the whole of this interesting family. Our evenings were generally passed in a book or music room, fitted up in a manner, to bid defiance to ennui, in whatever shape it might make its advances. Here, we sometimes alternately read aloud some popular Author; at others, employed ourselves in more solitary avocations; relieving the hours, by entertaining and rational converse. The medical Gentleman who attended me, had now pronounced, that in a day or two, I might venture to move, and as we were all sitting together one evening, talking of the vicissitudes of life, Mr. Servinton said, "We none of us know what is before us, or what we can bear, until we are tried; you see before you, a man who has tasted of the cup of affliction, or I would rather call it chastening, to its very dregs, but God was kind to me through all, as he sent me an angel in a human form, to comfort, console, and advise me." Here he seemed overcome by a momentary intensity of feeling, and as he wiped away the starting tear, rose, kissed his wife, then his grandson, and continued.—"You must excuse me, Sir, but a man who has been married between thirty and forty years, may be allowed to praise his wife, even before strangers—but mine must be rewarded by Heaven, not by me, for I am incapable of rendering her, half her meed of justice. One false step, one dereliction from sound principle on my part, in early life, was the occasion of misery to both of us for years afterwards; but it enabled me, I trust, to know the value of two inestimable jewels, my wife, and my immortal soul. You may derive instruction, Sir, from being made acquainted with my story; it is capable of teaching you, and forcibly exemplifying a few important truths. The mirror of life, as held up to us, by the faults and follies of our neighbours, may always be looked into with advantage; from such as I can present may be learnt, the danger of self-sufficiency, or the over estimation of one's powers. That no other course than what is perfectly straight forward and honourable, free from all cutting and contrivance, can ever be trod with safety.—That the imprudence of exceeding such means as are well at command, in the businesses of life, is like building a house upon a rotten foundation, only to involve the individual himself and many innocent persons, in ruin by the fall. You may further draw two or three consolatory reflections from my history; one is, particularly, never to give way to despair, but, under the most trying circumstances, have trust in God. Another—"
"That there's a date set, to all sorrows——
Nothing is everlasting in this world."
"Before you leave us, I will lend you for perusal some notes I have taken from time to time, but we will not pursue the subject now, for I assure you it is sufficiently painful."
Both Mr. Servinton, and his wife, were well informed persons upon most subjects;—conversation seldom flagged, and I now endeavoured to change it; although, had it not been for the hint contained in his last few words, my curiosity was sufficiently excited, to make me wish to hear more. The next morning, he put into my hands, a packet, saying—"When you have read this, let me have it again." I instantly shut myself in my apartment, and commenced the perusal of a narrative, which did indeed, surprize, instruct, and interest me. When I returned it the following day, I besought permission to lay before the Public, the extraordinary detail I had read; but was met by a most decided negative.
I was too desirous, however, of gaining my point, to be easily repulsed; and the subsequent arguments I used, were more successful—ending at length, in my receiving an assent, which has brought me for the first time, upon the field of literature, as an Author. I am fully aware of my humble pretensions to this character, but hope I may at least be considered the means of communicating an instructive lesson—and will only add, that if others are half so much affected and interested by the perusal of my tale, as I was by my acquaintance with one of its most prominent characters, they will pardon all my defects of style, and heartily thank me, for bringing them acquainted with Quintus Servinton.
THE AUTHOR
"Give me your hand, and let me see
Your future fate, and Heaven's decree."
It was at the beginning of August, 1772, that a gentleman who was travelling on horseback, across the moors in the neighbourhood of the Tees, accompanied by a faithful and trusty servant, was met by a troop of gipsies, the foremost or leader of whom approached, with the view apparently of accosting him. He was tall and of very erect stature, as if, in early life, he had been a soldier, and though his ragged and tattered garments, now bespoke too plainly the ignominy of the calling he had adopted, there was a certain something in his manner, an air of superiority in his gait, which commanded respect, in spite of his habiliments, and denoted full plainly that he had seen better days.
The other members of the party, were a mixed assemblage of old and young men and women, with some half-naked children; and following at a little distance in the rear, was an apology for a cart drawn by a miserable horse, serving as a conveyance for most of the moveables of the itinerants. At first, Mr. Servinton, for so the gentleman was named, felt a momentary apprehension, that the property he had about him, might be endangered by such company—a feeling, not likely to be greatly relieved, by any dependence he might have upon his attendant Sam, he being one of those, who think discretion is the better part of valour; and that, "he who fights and runs away, may live to fight another day."
Any idea of danger, was however, but transient; for the countenance of the leader, and his mild and placid manner, were not reconcileable with the pursuits of persons, disposed to violence; and before the two parties absolutely met, all perturbation, even on Sam's part, was removed.
"It's a soft morning, Sir," said the leader, gently doffing a cap, made of the skin of some animal from which none of the fur had been taken.
"It is;" replied Mr. Servinton, "but pray, my good folks, which way are you travelling? for I'll tell you what, 'tis my duty as a Justice of the Peace, bids me keep the country clear of vagrants, and the appearance of your troop, seems to bespeak that I shall be obliged to use my interference, if you think of taking up your quarters in this neighbourhood."
"Save you, and bless your bonny face," replied one of the females of the party—"I'm sure, the heart that lies under it, cannot be a hard one—and we're only going to Carlisle, your Honor, and only meant to stay in yonder copse for a day or two, till we're a little rested;—an your Honor will be so kind as to shut your Honor's eyes till we are gone, I'll tell your Honor's fortune,—and if 'tis like your face, it must be a happy one."
Mr. Servinton was one of those good-natured, unaffected country Gentlemen, who are an honor to England. The eldest son of a long and respectable line of ancestry, well educated, accustomed from his infancy, to mix with persons of the highest rank in his County, possessing a handsome patrimony in some valuable estates, to which he had considerably added by purchase, he spent the greatest part of his time, in the bosom of his family, at a large, old-fashioned hall, near the village of Lartingham, devoting his chief attention to such pursuits as usually mark a country life, but relieving their monotony by indulging a taste for drawing, and an ardent attachment to classic literature—in both which he was a proficient. With him, the Commission of the Peace was not made the means of enhancing an imaginary importance among his neighbours, nor of oppressing the poor by a vexatious exercise of power; nor, in a word, of ever departing from the principle of tempering justice with mercy. It therefore was by no means difficult to persuade him, not to interrupt the proceedings of his new acquaintances, provided they conducted themselves peaceably and orderly; nor, as he was not altogether free from curiosity of disposition, was he inclined to lose the opportunity of learning what would be pretended to be uttered, as his future destiny. Accordingly, he briefly addressed the troop, in reply to the appeal that had been made him, observing that, as they had not been brought before him in his Magisterial capacity, he would not interfere with them, unless their own behaviour rendered it necessary; then turning to the female speaker, and throwing her a sixpence, he said, "Come my good woman; let's have a trial of your skill—let's know what's to be my fortune."
The woman, pleased that her request had been granted, and flattered by the easy familiar tone, by which she had been accosted;—a tone, always at the command of a true Gentleman, without its being allowed in reply, immediately stepped forward, and muttering certain unintelligible words, proceeded to investigate the lines on Mr. Servinton's palm. Her shrewd dark countenance underwent many changes, whilst she was making her observations. Sometimes a smile, as of apparent delight, played around her mouth, and caused her to exhibit a regular set of teeth, which, contrasted with the general contour of her face, gave the whole, rather an engaging appearance. At others, her melancholy, still cast of features, implied that all was not agreeable—and at one particular moment, a tear came into her piercing black eye, and filling it quite to overflowing, ran over upon her cheek, and was immediately succeeded by a smile; which presently again gave way to tears and sighs; the whole being closed by a laugh, as of pleasure, a clapping of hands, and an exclamation—"I see it all! I see it all!—he's happy at last!"
Mr. Servinton, although perfectly free from superstition, and possessing a strong, well-cultivated mind, could not witness the passing scene without interest. He desired the woman to explain what had so affected her; and in reply she addressed him as follows:——
"Sweets and sours——more sours than sweets——
A new-born Son your Honor greets;"——
and then, pausing a little, and assuming a most solemn tone, added, "Your children will be a score, less two. He who is now entering the world, will give you as much pleasure, and as much pain, as any of them—thrice will he be in danger of sudden or violent death—thrice will he undergo great reverses of fortune—his thrice tenth year will be the commencing scene of his disasters—when he reaches his fortieth, he will have passed through all dangers, and will attain a happy and peaceful old age; but warn him from his cradle of from thirty to forty."
The two parties now separated; Mr. Servinton to proceed to his own mansion, which was only a few miles distant, and where, he was now returning, after a months absence, in a neighbouring county, whither he had gone, according to his annual custom, for the purpose of looking after his estates, and meeting his tenants. Although an addition to his already large family, had been expected, he had not yet heard that the event had taken place; and scarcely allowing himself to think what weight to attach to the Gipsy's prophecy, opposed as it was to his conviction of the absurdity of such pretensions to a knowledge of the future, he could not so far divest himself of it, as to help mentally feeling that, whether or not, it should influence his mind, would in some measure depend upon the fulfilment or otherwise, of the first part of the prediction.
Thus ruminating, he travelled slowly along his way, scarcely noticing the endeavours made by his attendant every now and then, to introduce a word edgeways, until at length, Sam, rather elevating his voice, observed, "I'm thinking, Master, these Witches must be nation cunning, thus to tell folk's fortunes—I had my fortune told when I was a young man, and it has all come true."
"Has it?" replied Mr. Servinton, "Pray what might you have been told, Sam?"
"That I should never be married, Master, for one thing, and that I should live twenty years in one place for another. As to the first, I was then courting Margaret Bousfield, but I knew that if I married against the will of these Witches, and their like, we should have nothing but trouble, and so I broke off the match—and as for the other part, your Honor knows how true that has proved."
"You should not call such people Witches, Sam!" said his Master, "they are Gipsies, and their pretensions to divination, serve only to amuse the ignorant and vulgar. You did very wrong, to desert a poor girl, upon such insufficient grounds; there are few things more cruel or more wicked, than to obtain a woman's affections and then leave her. I had really thought better of you, than to have believed the stories I formerly heard, with regard to you and Margaret, and I am doubly sorry to find them confirmed by yourself, upon so improper a cause, as a Gipsy's fortune-telling." He then went on to explain to Sam, that Gipsies abound in all parts of Europe, particularly in Hungary, where they travel in large bands or hordes like Arabs, gaily dressed in red and green, and often well armed and mounted. They are every where averse to regular employment, preferring to lead a rambling, desultory life. In Prussia, they are sometime enrolled as soldiers, bon gré, mal gré; but even when disciplined to the use of arms, they never forget their early habits; nor do they omit seizing every opportunity of showing their dislike to the service. He was continuing in this manner, further illustrating his observations by some anecdotes, characteristic of the race, when he came within sight of Lartingham Hall, the smoke from whose chimnies, curling as it rose among the trees, was his first welcome home; nor can there ever be a welcome, that is more grateful to the eyes of the homeward bound traveller.
Lartingham Hall was a building rather commodious than handsome. It stood in the centre of a ring fence, inclosing one hundred and twenty acres, bounded on all sides by a narrow lane, whose hedges, formed of a great variety of flowering shrubs and trees, were now exhibiting their several beauties in many different hues and forms. The inclosure had formerly been a park, but was now divided into several large fields, those nearest the house being thickly planted with ornamental timber, in orchards and shrubberies; the house itself, standing in the midst of a smooth, highly cultivated lawn. At a short distance in the rear, were extensive and well-arranged kitchen-gardens, hot-houses, and pineries; and the offices, all which were extremely convenient, were so situated as scarcely to be perceptible from the parts of the house, usually inhabited by the family.
Mr. Servinton had been disposed to while away the ideas floating in his mind in consequence of the occurrence of the morning, and had therefore the more readily entered into conversation with his servant; but Sam was at all times a great favorite with his Master—he had lived with him previous to his marriage—was faithful, and warmly attached to the family; and, in virtue of these and other claims or qualifications, had become a sort of Major domo with the other servants; over whom, as well as the children, he often exercised an authority, equal at least, if not superior, to that assumed by his master.
Just as he had rode a few paces forwards, to open the great gate, leading through a stately avenue of ash-trees to the house, a groom was seen riding rapidly across the common they had lately passed, wearing Mr. Servinton's grey livery, and following a gentleman who was pressing his horse greatly beyond his ordinary speed. As they were proceeding at a much quicker rate than Mr. Servinton, they were soon sufficiently near to enable him to discover, that the gentleman was Mr. Bates, Mrs. Servinton's medical attendant upon occasions that added to her matronly honours; and the truth at once flashed across his mind, that in one part, at least, the Gipsy's prediction had been accomplished: and ere he reached the house he was overtaken by the Doctor, when he was informed, that about two hours previously, the servant had been sent to summon him, with orders to spare no haste.
At the hall door was the head nurse, who had the almost unlimited control of the numerous young progeny, waiting full of smiles and simpers, to announce that her dear Mistress had been complaining early in the forenoon; that although James had been immediately dispatched for Mr. Bates, a fine healthy boy had been born long before he could have reached his destination; and that both mother and son "were doing as well as could be expected."
So soon as his feelings, alike of agitation and agreeable surprise, were a little subsided, Mr. Servinton retired to his room, full of deep musings upon the singular occurrence that had preceded the birth of this, his fifth son. He was a most affectionate husband, and truly fond of his children; but a birth was so regularly an annual, that much of the charm of the infantine hours of offspring was deadened by its constant recurrence; and it was observed, by the acquaintances of the family, as a mark of character rather surprising in a man of his disposition, that his attachment to his children was comparatively little developed, until they advanced towards puberty, when he became the fondest of parents.
If the untoward events that happen to most of us, in our passage through life, be traced to their true and legitimate source, they will but too frequently, be found to owe their origin to certain defects of early education. We very commonly see parents almost totally indifferent as to what impressions their children receive; what associations they form; or what habits they acquire during their infancy, fondly thinking, that it is ample time as yet, to correct any evil propensity they may acquire; and full early, to practise any restraint upon the childs engaging follies. We thus observe parents, who in after life, cannot do enough for their children, negatively correct only, in their conduct towards them, so long as they continue in the nursery; forgetting Solomon's proverb respecting the training up of youth, and adopting the very course which their good sense and usually right notions, would have led them to reprobate in their neighbours. The sequel will demonstrate whether or not there is a possibility, that any part of these observations are borne out by the system of education, adopted in the family, to whose acquaintance the Reader is now introduced.
Shortly after Mr. Servinton had withdrawn to his own room, or library as it was commonly called, a tap at the door announced Mr. Bate, who had just left the lady of the house and her child, both "doing remarkably well." Mr. Servinton, in the course of conversation, narrated the events of the forenoon, and inquired the Doctor's opinion upon them. "'Pon my honour, and under correction, Sir," he replied, "I am inclined always to view such events as proceeding from nothing more nor less than an illusion of the brain, bespeaking great irritability of the system, and for which, no better treatment can be applied, than a plentiful application of the cat o'nine tails, after an immersion in a horse-pond. In other words, Sir, I think you would have consulted your dignity as a Magistrate, if you had committed the whole posse comitatus to the County Bridewell, instead of allowing them to talk to you,—but I speak under correction."
"That would have been rather severe to unoffending persons," replied Mr. Servinton, "but, however, we will not discuss the question at present. Perhaps on another occasion, I may adduce arguments, which may lead you to a different view of the question. I am now anxious to see my boy, whose destiny is foretold to be so chequered, and also his excellent Mother. I assure you I attach no importance to the affair, but I think 'twill be as well to make a memorandum of what has happened this morning, as it may serve for reflection hereafter."
"Unquestionably, Sir, and under correction," was proceeding Mr. Bate, when the door opened, and it was announced to Mr. Servinton, that his lady wished to see him.
As he mounted the wide handsome staircase, that led to the upper apartments, he was ruminating whether or not, he should acquaint his wife, with any part of what had occurred, and was approaching, as a matter of course, the door of the usual bed-chamber, when he was told by the servant in attendance, that her Mistress was occupying the chintz room, as she had been so suddenly taken ill, that her own, was not in readiness. He said nothing, but a different room having been used for this, his eleventh child, to that in which all the others had drawn their first breath, struck him for the moment, as rather fresh cause for wonder.
It has been already said that, he was naturally of a very affectionate disposition, and, if the interview with his wife, had not now taken place, under the interesting circumstances that attended it, the mere fact of a month's absence, would have rendered a first meeting, an event of considerable influence upon his feelings. Advancing to the bedside, and kindly saluting her, he said but little at the moment, so much was he overcome by conflicting emotions, but gently retaining her hand, his eloquent countenance plainly bespoke the ardour of his attachment. Mrs. Servinton, equally glad to see him, returned his caresses in the placid, quiet way by which she was distinguished, and then observed,—"I'm sure Mr. Servinton, mine is a dreadful life—no sooner one child can walk, than there's another in arms—I'm sure I hope none of my daughters will ever marry—they little know what they would have to go through.—We have another boy.—I really thought four were quite enough, and I don't know what we shall do with any more.—However, I have hired a good wet-nurse, and I hope the child will do well."
"I hope so, indeed, my dear Charlotte.—Mrs. Caudle told me it was a fine healthy boy, and you know, my love, we must take what Providence sends us, and be grateful.—I should like to see the child; can I do so?"
"Yes, certainly; I believe the infant is well enough—much like other children. I dare say, if he had been our first, I might have thought him a fine boy; but really, I'm now so used to them, that I see very little difference in their appearance.—They are all much alike, only some are more noisy than others—however, you can step into the dressing-room, and look at the little fellow;—and afterwards, I will see you again." Tenderly bidding her adieu for the present, he withdrew and repaired to the apartment where his newborn son had been placed; and whom he contemplated, if not with all the rapture that attends an only child, at least with strong parental feelings.
In the course of a few days, the accouchement chamber was sufficiently freed of its restraints to allow full and general conversation; and, upon one of these occasions, he introduced the story of his adventure with the Gipsies. "I am really surprised;" said Mrs. Servinton, who had patiently listened through the whole of it, and had gathered from her husband's tone and manner that it had made some impression upon his mind. "I am really surprised, Mr. Servinton, that you could attach the least importance to such nonsense. They must have thought you exceedingly weak, to dare take such a liberty with you—they are nothing but impostors—and I must say, their allusion to our large family, is the height of impertinence, and what I beg, may not be repeated—I have no desire to be made the laughing stock of my neighbours."
"I'll tell you what 'tis, Charlotte"—replied her husband, in a good humoured tone—"you make much too serious a matter of it, to talk thus—and as for being a laughing-stock, many married persons are very improperly ridiculed when they have no children, but I never knew this the case, where Heaven was bountiful in sending them; and all I can say is, I shall have no objection to see the prediction fulfilled in this respect, as correctly as it was, with regard to Quintus's birth."
"I'm sure I hope no such thing.—It is quite high time, that we should do something towards providing for those we already have, for our estate, although considerable, will not support half a dozen idle young men, and there is nothing like looking out early. If we are to have tutors and governesses to pay and maintain, you had need endeavour to take some steps towards improving our income; for otherwise, I fear the children will come badly off."
Mrs. Servinton was a well-educated, highly-connected Lady, who had brought her husband a good fortune, and who added to these claims for favor and attention, great skill in managing her house-hold, all parts of which, were ever in capital order. She was particularly careful to procure trusty servants, to whose charge the children were confided; and the least neglect in their personal economy, such as disregard of cleanliness, or putting on a tattered garment, was certain to attract her notice and excite her displeasure; but, if such points as these were well attended to, and no unusual noise or disturbance took place in the nursery, her interference or authority was seldom exercised, every thing being conducted with the regularity of clock-work. Great prudence was one of her distinguishing features; and, whether or not she attached more weight to the Gipsy's prophecy than she chose to acknowledge, or, whether she considered that, judging by the past, nothing was more probable, than that, so far as it regarded the eighteen children, it might be fulfilled, certain it is, her worldly wisdom induced her to press warmly upon her husband's consideration, the necessity of taking some steps, towards bettering their fortune.
After some further discussion, it was agreed, that Mr. Servinton should consult his professional friend, Mr. Briefless, who was a Lawyer, residing in a neighbouring town, and well acquainted with most people's business; and that, if any thing desirable offered, it should be acted upon. Letters were also written to some of Mrs. Servinton's relations, who, being eminent Merchants and Bankers in London, might be supposed to have opportunities of promoting the desired object.
Mr. Briefless was a Gentleman, who had been bred to the bar; but after being admitted had acquired so confirmed a habit of stuttering, or rather hesitation, when attempting to speak in Public, that after several ineffectual endeavours to overcome it, he was obliged to relinquish that branch of the profession, and eventually settled as a plain country Attorney. He was an upright, honorable man, but endowed with remarkable obstinacy; which, unfortunately for his family, was particularly shewn in the management of his own affairs. Between him and Mr. Servinton, a strict intimacy had long existed; and in relying in a great measure upon his counsel, in the weighty affairs that now occupied his attention, there was the double assurance of friendship, and a mature experience in business, that he might do so with safety. This important step being thus decided, the turn it gave to the domestic affairs of the family, soon assumed such a shape, as altogether to dismiss for a time, from the minds of most of its members, all recollection of so trifling an incident as the Gipsy's prophecy.
In consequence of the measures so taken, it was not long, until Mr. Briefless introduced to Mr. Servinton a Mr. Petrie, one of the firm of a long established Bank in the town of D——, who were desirous of strengthening their resources by an increase of capital and connexion; and with whom a negotiation was accordingly commenced.
It was not altogether without a struggle, that some of the dirty acres, which had for ages descended from father to son, were now proposed to be alienated from their possessor, with the view of raising the sum that was at length agreed upon, as Mr. Servinton's contribution to the funds of the house. Although nobility had never grafted any of its scions on his family tree, there was a degree of pride felt, upon turning over the legendary tales of the achievements of heroes, long since mingled with the dust,—notwithstanding they had not risen higher than to be the esquire to his more exalted companion in arms,—or in reading the tender love stories of some of the Ladies of other days, who had been raised to the rank of Dames, partly as a tribute to their charms, and partly to their respectable lineage. Certain events also, were instilled into the ears of the children by their ever zealous nursery attendants, almost so soon as they could understand any thing, tending to aggrandize in their infant minds the importance of their parents; such as that, a Richard de Servinton was one of three only, who were able to extract the sabre from the block of wood, into which, during the reign of King John, it had been struck by a renowned Baron de Courcy; another, the creating one of the ancestors of the family a Bannerett, for his gallant conduct at Cressy, in virtue of which honor, Mr. Servinton in his right of primogeniture, wore as a dexter supporter to his ancient Coat of Arms, a Man in Armour, which was always specially pointed out on the carriage-door by the old coachman to his young Masters; another, how, during the wars preceding the Commonwealth, a sturdy member of the name, had been one of twenty-four country Gentlemen who had signed a round-robin letter of remonstrance to King Charles the First, and afterwards, raised and maintained at his sole expense, in support of the Parliamentary forces, a well equipped troop of horse. When again, the children were shewn a number of old portraits, hanging around the grand entrance hall, the men dressed in armour, or in the costume of former days from the Norman Conquest downwards, and the women's faces almost lost in hoods, or in the tremendous display of ruffs, caps, and lace, peculiar to the age, their shapes being almost entirely concealed by immense hoops, the servants were sure to magnify the fame of these personages, by a hundred imaginary tales, confounding all they had ever heard upon such subjects, with the beings who were thus represented on canvas.
So averse indeed, was Mr. Servinton to lose the fee simple of property derived from this ancient heritage, that after much deliberation, he finally resolved to raise the money that was necessary by mortgage, rather than sale, and not even the strong recommendations he received from his wife's London relatives, who, with a true mercantile spirit, urged an absolute disposal, upon the ground that property was always better for changing hands, and that his had been long enough in one family, could induce him to depart from the plan he thus determined to adopt.
All preliminaries being at length adjusted, his name was added to the firm of Petrie & Co., taking precedence of the other partners—this having been considered a distinction, equally due to him on account of his property, as of his family connexions.
Shortly afterwards it was thought advisable that he should have a town establishment, and in this manner was the first step taken towards departing from the characteristics, that had for centuries marked the name of Servinton. Nor was it long ere it proceeded to others, tending in the end entirely to deprive it of what had so long constituted its pride and stability.
Meanwhile, the general routine of the family went on much as before, only that Mr. Servinton was absent from home more than formerly, in attendance upon his new occupations; for the idea of being what is called a sleeping partner, was deservedly reprobated by his friends; and although he had not been brought up to business, his education, his fine understanding, and general attainments, were justly considered sufficient qualifications towards enabling him to acquire a full knowledge of the principles and routine, necessary for conducting a country bank.
"Yea, this man's brow, like to a title leaf,
Foretels the nature of a tragic volume."
SHAKESPEARE
Notwithstanding that Mr. Servinton's name had many years stood in the Commission of the Peace, he seldom or never attended to Public business, greatly disliking every thing connected with pomp or parade; but it so happened that about a year and a half after the commencement of this narrative, he was at the county town, at the time the Sessions were held, when he one morning entered the Court, and took his seat upon the Bench, at the right of the Chairman.
Among the prisoners for trial, were a man and woman, charged with stealing poultry. The evidence for the prosecution, seemed clear and decisive; and the Chairman having addressed them, enquiring what they had to say in their defence, the man sullenly replied, "Nothing;" but the woman, raising her voice, exclaimed, "That bonny Gentleman on the your right, your Worship, kens that we are peaceable, honest folks, and will give us a character."
All eyes were immediately directed towards Mr. Servinton, who being so pointedly appealed to, looked at the prisoners with more attention than he had before paid them, and presently recognised the Gipsy acquaintance, who had told his fortune.
So sudden and unexpected an appeal, threw him for the moment, off his usual composure, and he scarcely knew what reply to make the Chairman, who, in the easy and familiar style, that one Gentleman uses in addressing another, had enquired if he knew any thing of these people? To recount what had really passed, might not be very agreeable, as it was calculated to excite merriment at his expense, in a Public Court; and to relate that he had given a troop of vagrants, permission to sojourn in his neighbourhood, might possibly subject him to an implied censure, which, as a Magistrate, he would rather have avoided. The Chairman, interpreting his hesitation of reply, unfavorably to the prisoners, asked the woman rather sharply, what she meant by singling out a Gentleman on the Bench, to speak to her character, who it was quite clear knew nothing about her?
"A'nt please your Honor's Worship," replied the woman, "the Gentleman kens me well enough—and he kens how true I told his Honor's fortune last year."
"Told the Gentleman's fortune!" said the Chairman, rather enjoying his brother Magistrate's increased confusion—"When and where, did you see this Gentleman? and what has it to do with the present case?"
"Last summer twelvemonth, your Honor's Worship, we met the Gentleman on Middleton moorside, and I told him his fortune for letting us stay a day or two in the woods near his Honor's house."
"And pray what fortune did you predict for the Gentleman? and how is it, that you could not at the same time foresee your own, and have kept out of this scrape? for I have heard nothing yet, which at all leads me to think you can escape punishment."
"His Honor kens well enough how true I told his fortune. Did I not say—"
"Sweets and sours—more sours than sweets—
A new-born Son, your Honor greets;"
"And has he not found it so? Has not what he has since done, brought more sours than sweets already; and will it not do so hereafter? Has not one more of the eighteen bairns already been born? and is not another expected? The Gentleman, your Honor, kens me well enough, and if he will but speak out, he will say, that I am a woman who speaks the truth, and that your Honor may believe me, when I tell your Honor's Worship, that we are innocent of what we are charged with."
So appealed to, Mr. Servinton briefly explained the incident that had befallen him, but unfortunately for the prisoners, could say nothing more in their favor, than that, he knew neither good nor harm of them—that as no charge had been made against them, he had not refused to comply with the dictates of humanity, and as both themselves and their horse, appeared in a very miserable condition, he had allowed them to stay a day or two in his neighbourhood. So far therefore as his testimony went, it had no influence upon the verdict of the Jury, which, being returned guilty, they were sentenced to three month's imprisonment; but, as regarded himself, the adventure served for years afterwards, as a standing joke with some of his friends, and upon each future addition to his family, "Success to the Gipsy's prophecy," was a kind of toast or watchword, as the best bin was resorted to, or the barrel of strong beer tapped, to drink health and increasing honors to the founders of the feast; and when, in process of time, the birth of the ninth daughter, completed the sybilick number of eighteen, Sam, who by that time had became grey in his Master's service, said, with a knowing expression, when descanting upon the subject to his fellow-servants, "I knew 'twould be so—I knew 'twould be so, and though Master was very angry about Margaret Bousfield, I'd as lief marry the devil, as marry her or any body else, after my fortune had been told as it was—I knew 'twould be so, and as for Master Quintus, whoever lives to see it, will see a good deal. Poor little Gentleman, he is the quietest and best of 'em all. He has none of the tricks of t'other young Masters, who are always in mischief, but all his delight is in reading, or in being with William the gardener. Ah! poor lad! he little thinks what he's born to; but long before his troubles begin, old Sam's will be ended—but he'll never want friends."
If the accidental meeting of the Gipsy at Durham, had not renewed in Mr. Servinton's mind, some of its original impressions, Quintus might have passed through the early stages of his life, and excepting when the subject was now and then introduced by such conversations as this between the servants, the prediction that had attended his birth, would have been altogether forgotten; the reminiscence so excited, was however, but transient, and although the affair was still occasionally mentioned, it merely served to create fun and laughter, entirely losing any tendency to reflection.
In the mean time, Quintus, after leaving his nurse's arms, went through the several gradations of childhood, much as usual in large families. His mother was one of those good Ladies, who, as before said, pay the most scrupulous attention to the conduct of their servants with respect to children; nor perhaps, could an objection be taken to her general system, unless it be that, it embraced a more rigid confinement to the precincts of the nursery, than by some, is thought advisable. Once only each day were they admitted to the parlour, which was always immediately that the cloth was removed after dinner, when the whole troop, nicely washed and combed, marched in full procession, forming steps similar to those of a staircase—the rear being invariably brought up by the head nurse, with the infant in arms, for the time-being.
With all the excellent qualities of head and heart possessed by his parents, there were many points connected with the management of their children, wherein they dif