And when to these are added the merciless slaughter upon the fugitives at Culloden, and the devastation committed in the highland districts, it might have been expected that the sword of justice would have been weary with executions.

There were still, however, some individuals, upon whom, for personal reasons, vengeance was still desired. One of these was Charles Ratcliffe, brother to the earl of Derwentwater. This gentleman had been partaker in the earl's treason of 1715, and had been condemned for that crime, but escaped from Newgate. In the latter end of the year 1745 or beginning of 1746, he was taken on board a French ship of war, with other officers. The vessel was loaded with arms and warlike stores, bound for the coast of Scotland, for the use of the insurgents. Ratcliffe's case was, therefore, a simple one.

He was brought before the king's bench, where evidence was adduced to show that he was the same Charles Ratcliffe who had been condemned for the earlier rebellion, and who had then made his escape. Upon this being found proved by a jury, he was condemned to die, although, appealing to his French commission, he pleaded that he was not a subject of Britain, and denied himself to be the Charles Ratcliffe to whom the indictment and conviction referred, alleging he was Charles earl of Derwentwater.

On the 7th of December, Ratcliffe appeared on the scaffold, where he was admitted, in respect of his birth, to the sad honours of the axe and block. He was richly dressed, and behaved with a mixture of grace and firmness which procured him universal sympathy. Lovat, whose tragedy I have already given, was, in point of time, the last person who suffered death for political causes in 1747.

An act of indemnity was passed in June 1747, granting a pardon to all persons who had committed treason, but with an awful list of exceptions, amounting to about eighty names. I may here mention the fate of some of those persons who had displayed so much fidelity to Charles during the time of his escape. The laird of MacKinnon, MacDonald of Kingsburgh, and others, ascertained to have been active in aiding the prince's escape, were brought to London, and imprisoned for some time. Flora MacDonald, the heroine of this extraordinary drama, was also, for a time, detained in the Tower. As I have recorded several of the severities of government, I ought to add, that nothing save a short imprisonment attended the generous interference of those individuals in behalf of the unfortunate adventurer, during his dangers and distresses. After being liberated from the Tower, Flora MacDonald found refuge, or rather a scene of triumph, in the house of lady Primrose, a determined Jacobite, where the prince's highland guardian was visited by all persons of rank who entertained any bias to that unhappy cause. Neither did the English Jacobites limit their expressions of respect and admiration to empty compliments. Many who, perhaps, secretly regretted they had not given more effectual instances of their faith to the exiled family, were desirous to make some amends, by loading with kind attentions and valuable presents, the heroine who had played such a dauntless part in the drama. These donations supplied to the gallant highlandwoman a fortune of nearly £1500. She bestowed this dowery, together with her hand, upon MacDonald of Kingsburgh, who had been her assistant in the action which procured her so much fame. The applause due to her noble conduct, was not rendered by Jacobites alone; many of the royal family, and particularly the good-natured and generous prince Frederick of Wales, felt and expressed what was due to the worth of Flora MacDonald, though exerted for the safety of so dangerous a rival. The simplicity and dignity of her character was expressed in her remark, that she never thought she had done any thing wonderful till she heard the world wondering at it. She afterwards went to America with her husband Kingsburgh, but both returned, in consequence of the civil war, and died in their native isle of Skye.

I should make these volumes thrice as long as they ought to be, were I to tell you the stories which I have heard (sometimes from the lips of those who were themselves the sufferers) concerning the strange concealments and escapes which the Jacobites were reduced to for the safety of their lives after their cause was ruined. The severity of legal prosecution was not speedily relaxed, although the proceedings under martial law were put a stop to. Lord Pitsligo, who lurked on his own estate, and displayed a model of patience under unusual sufferings, continued to be an object of occasional search long after the 1746; and was in some degree under concealment till his death in 1762, at the age of eighty-five. Some other criminals peculiarly obnoxious to government were not liberated from prison until the accession of George III.

JEMMY DAWSON.

W. SHENSTONE.

A young lady of good family and fortune had been long engaged to be married to Mr. James Dawson, who was one of the condemned Jacobite gentlemen in 1746. Had he been pardoned or acquitted, the day of his enlargement would have been that of their wedding. But he was sentenced to the terrible death of a traitor, and no persuasions could prevent the unhappy girl from being present at his execution. She followed the sledge on which he was drawn in a coach, with a gentleman related to her, and a female friend. "She advanced near enough," says the Whitehall Evening Post, "to see the fire kindled which was to consume that heart which had been devoted to her. She beheld all the dreadful preparations of inhumanity without betraying any of those extravagancies which her companion had apprehended. But when she found that her beloved friend was no more, she drew her head into the coach, and exclaimed, “My dear, I follow thee! Jesus receive our souls together," fell on the neck of her companion, and expired instantly.

Come listen to my mournful tale
Ye tender hearts and lovers dear!
Nor will you scorn to heave a sigh,
Nor need you blush to shed a tear.

And thou, dear Kitty, peerless maid!
Do thou a pensive ear incline,
For thou can'st weep at every woe,
And pity every plaint-but mine.

Young Dawson was a gallant boy,
A brighter never trod the plain,
And well he loved one charming maid,
And dearly was he loved again.

One tender maid, she loved him dear;
Of gentle blood the damsel came,
And faultless was her beauteous form,
And spotless was her virgin fame.

But curse on party's hateful strife
That led the favoured youth astray,
The day the rebel clans appeared :
O had he never seen that day!

536

HALF HOURS OF ENGLISH HISTORY.

Their colours and their sash he wore,
And in the fatal dress was found:
And now he must that death endure
Which gives the brave the keenest wound.
How pale was then his true love's cheek,
When Jemmy's sentence reached her ear;
For never yet did Alpine snows

So pale or yet so chill appear.

With faltering voice, she weeping said,
"Oh Dawson, monarch of my heart!
Think not thy death shall end our loves,
For thou and I will never part.

"Yet might sweet mercy find a place,
And bring relief to Jemmy's woes;
O George without a prayer for thee,
My orisons should never close.

"The gracious prince that gave him life,
Would crown a never dying flame,

And every tender babe I bore,

Should learn to lisp the giver's name.

"But though he should be dragged in scorn

To yonder ignominious tree,

He shall not want one constant friend,

To share the cruel fates' decree."

O! then her mourning coach was called,
The sledge moved slowly on before;
Though borne in a triumphal car,
She had not loved her favourite more.
She followed him, prepared to view,
The terrible behests of law,

And the last scene of Jemmy's woes,
With calm and steadfast eye she saw.
Distorted was that blooming face,
Which she had fondly loved so long;
And stifled was that tuneful breath,
Which in her praise had sweetly sung.
And severed was that beauteous neck,
Round which her arms had fondly closed;
And mangled was that beauteous breast
On which her love-sick head reposed.

And ravished was that constant heart
She did to every heart prefer;
For though it could its king forget,
'Twas true and loyal still to her.

Amid those unrelenting flames
She bore his constant heart to see;
But when 'twas mouldered into dust,
"Yet, yet," she cried, "I follow thee.

"My death, my death alone can show
The pure and lasting love I bore :
Accept, O heaven, of woes like ours,
And let us, let us, weep no more."

The dismal scene was o'er and past,
The lover's mournful hearse retired;
The maid drew back her languid head
And sighing forth his name, expired.
Though justice ever must prevail,
The tear my Kitty sheds is due ;
For seldom shall she hear a tale
So sad, so tender, and so true.

THE ENGLISH IN THE BLACK HOLE OF CALCUTTA, 1756.

SMOLLETT.

Scenes of higher import were this year (1756), acted by the British arms in the East Indies the cessation of hostilities between the English and French companies on the peninsula of India, though it encouraged Mr. Clive to visit his native country, was not of long duration; for in a few months both sides recommenced their operations, no longer as auxiliaries to the princes of the country, but as principals and rivals both in arms and commerce. Major Lawrence, who now enjoyed the chief command of the English force, obtained divers advantages over the enemy, and prosecuted his success with such vigour, as in all probability would in a little time have terminated the war, according to his own wish; when the progress of his arms was interrupted, and suspended by an unfortunate event at Calcutta, the cause of which is not easily explained, for extraordinary pains have been taken to throw a veil over some transactions, from whence this calamity was immediately or remotely derived.

The old suba, or viceroy of Bengal, Bahar, and Orissa dying in the month of April, 1756, was succeeded by his adopted son, Surajahı Dowlah, a young man of violent passions, without principle, fortitude, or good faith, who began his administration with acts of perfidy and violence. In all probability, his design against the English settlements was suggested by his rapacious disposition, on a belief that they abounded with treasure, as the pretences he used for commencing hostilities were altogether inconsistent, false, and frivolous. In the month of May he caused the English factory at Cossimbuzar to be invested; and inviting Mr. Watts, the chief of the factory, to a conference, under the sanction of a safe conduct, detained him as a prisoner; then by means of fraud and force intermingled, made himself master of the factory. This exploit being achieved, he made no secret of his design to deprive the English of all their settlements. With this view he marched to Calcutta, at the head of a numerous army, and invested the place, which was then in no posture of defence.

The governor, intimidated by the number and power of the enemy, abandoned the fort, and with some principal persons residing in the settlement, took refuge on board a ship in the river, carrying along with them their most valuable effects, and the books of the company. Thus the defence of the place devolved to Mr. Holwell, the second in command, who, with the assistance of a few gallant officers, and a very feeble garrison, maintained it with uncommon courage and resolution against several attacks, until he was overpowered by numbers, and the enemy had forced their way into the castle; then he was obliged to submit, and the suba or viceroy promised on the word of a soldier, that no injury should be done to him or his garrison; nevertheless they were all driven, to the number of 146 persons of both sexes, into a place called the Black hole prison, a cube of about eighteen feet, walled up to the

eastward and southward, the only quarters from which they could expect the least refreshing air; and open to the westward by two windows, strongly barred with iron, through which there was no perceptible circulation. The humane reader will conceive with horror the miserable situation to which they must have been reduced, when thus stewed up in a close sultry night, under such a climate as that of Bengal, especially when he reflects that many of them were wounded, and all of them fatigued with hard duty. Transported with rage to find themselves so barbarously cooped up in a place where they must be exposed to suffocation, those hapless victims endeavoured to force open the door, that they might rush on the swords of the barbarians by whom they were surrounded; but all their efforts were ineffectual; the door was made to open inwards, and being once shut on them, the crowd pressed on it so strongly, as to render all their efforts abortive; then they were overwhelmed with distraction and despair. Mr. Holwell, who had placed himself at one of the windows, accosted a jemmautdar, or sergeant of the Indian guard, and having endeavoured to excite his compassion by drawing a pathetic picture of their sufferings, promised to gratify him with 1000 rupees in the morning, if he would find means to remove one-half of them into a separate apartment. The soldier, allured by the promise of such a reward, assured him that he would do his endeavour for their relief, and retired for that purpose; but in a few minutes returned, and told him that the suba, by whose order alone such a step could be taken, was asleep, and no person dared disturb his repose. By this time a profuse sweat had broken out on every individual, and this was attended with an insatiable thirst, which became the more intolerable, as the body was drained of its moisture. In vain these miserable objects stripped themselves of their clothes, squatted down, and fanned the air with their hats, to produce a refreshing undulation; many were unable to rise again from this posture, and falling down, were trod to death, or suffocated. The dreadful symptom of thirst was now accompanied with a difficulty of respiration, and every individual gasped for breath. Their despair became outrageous; again they attempted to force the door, and provoked the guard to fire on them by execration and abuse. The cry of "water! water!" issued from every mouth; even the jemmautdar was moved to compassion by their distress; he ordered his soldiers to bring some skins of water, which served only to enrage the appetite, and increase the general agitation; there was no other way of conveying it through the window but by hats: and this was rendered ineffectual by the eagerness and transport of the wretched prisoners, who at the sight of it, struggled and raved even into fits of delirium. In conse quence of these contests very little reached those who stood nearest the window, while the rest, at the further end of the prison were totally excluded from all relief, and continued calling on their friends for assistance, and conjuring them by all the tender ties of pity and affection; to those who were indulged it proved pernicious; for instead of allaying their thirst, it enraged their impatience for more. The confusion became general and horrid; all was clamour and contest; those who were at a distance endeavoured to force their passage to the window, and the weak were pressed down to the ground, never to rise again. The inhuman ruffians without derived entertainment from their misery; they supplied the prisoners with more water, and held up lights close to the bars, that they might enjoy the inhuman pleasure of seeing them fight for the baneful indulgence. Mr. Holwell, seeing all his particular friends lying dead around him, and trampled on by the living, finding himself wedged up so close as to be deprived of all motion, begged, as the last instance of their regard, that they would remove the pressure and allow him to retire from the window, that he might die in quiet. Even in those dreadful circumstances which might be supposed to level all distinction, the poor delirious wretches manifested a respect for his rank and character; they forthwith gave way, and he forced his passage into the centre of