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                 Little Downy;

                      or,

                  THE HISTORY

                       of

                 A FIELD MOUSE.

               Embellished With

          _TWELVE COLORED ENGRAVINGS._

                    LONDON:
                  Printed for
    A. K. NEWMAN and Co. Leadenhall-Street.
                _Price 1s. 6d._

  [Illustration: _Mrs. Clifford relating to her son Alfred,
  the history of the Field-Mouse._]

                 Little Downy;

                      or,

                  THE HISTORY

                       of

                 A FIELD-MOUSE.

                 A MORAL TALE.

                  Embellished

        WITH TWELVE COLORED ENGRAVINGS.

                    LONDON:
                 _Printed for_
    A. K. NEWMAN and Co. LEADENHALL-STREET.
                     1822.

  THE LIFE AND INTERESTING ADVENTURES

  of a

  FIELD MOUSE.

"What is my little Alfred crying for?" asked his mother, Mrs.
Clifford, as she entered the room where Alfred stood weeping by the
table. Come here, and tell me what is the matter with you."

Alfred slowly advanced towards his mother, and wiped away his tears
with her apron. Alfred was but a little boy, or he would not have
cried for such a simple thing as he did.

"Well, Alfred, and what is it?" asked his kind mamma.

"Why, mamma, you know that nice plum cake you gave me for saying my
lesson well; I had put it in the cupboard, as I did not want to eat it
then, and I came just now to take a little nibble at it; and when I
opened the closet-door to look for it, there was an ugly brown mouse
in the closet, and hardly a scrap of my cake left; that greedy thing
had eaten it all but a few crumbs." And here Alfred's tears flowed
afresh.

"I am very sorry, my dear child, that the mouse has eaten your cake;
but still, I do not think it was worth shedding so many tears about:
you must learn to bear such trifling disappointments with more
patience. I dare say, the mouse has eaten my sugar and cake, but I
shall not cry if it has."

"I am sure it is enough to make any one cry, (said Alfred). I only
wish, (added he, his eyes sparkling with anger), that I could have
killed the little beast for stealing my cake."

"Now, Alfred, I am ashamed of you," said his mother gravely.

Alfred could, however, think of nothing but the loss of his cake,
and begged his mother to let the mouse-trap be set to catch the
mischievous intruder.

Mrs. Clifford was very sorry to hear her little son talk so, and she
represented to him his cruelty in wanting to take away the life of a
poor mouse only for having satisfied its hunger.

"But, mamma, mice do a deal of mischief, (said Alfred), and ought to
be killed; for that mouse will soon eat up all your sugar."

"But, Alfred; I know a certain two-legged mouse, who, if I left the
key in my store-closet, would eat more sugar in one minute than this
poor little animal could in an hour."

Alfred hung his head at this reproof, for it was but a day or two
since he was detected at the sugar dish; and he soon after left the
room.

Mrs. Clifford was much grieved that her little Alfred shewed so much
inclination to be cruel and revengeful, two qualities so dangerous in
a child, or in any one; and she knew that, unless it was timely
checked, it would grow into a habit. Harsh means, she did not like to
adopt; and so she at last thought of a method which seemed likely to
succeed. She was well aware of the inconvenience of having mice in her
cupboard, as they not only commit great depredations, but soil every
thing they touch; so, as she was forced to kill the mouse, she hoped
to turn its death to a good use. Therefore, the next time Alfred
entered the room, she asked him if he was still resolved to have the
mouse killed. "Yes, mamma, (replied Alfred), it had no right to eat my
cake."

"Very well; I will have the mouse-trap set; but observe, Alfred,
whether before the day is past, you do not tell me you are sorry for
its death."

"Oh! no; that I am sure I sha'n't," replied Alfred, and Mrs. Clifford
ordered the trap to be set.

Early the next morning, when Mrs. Clifford came down stairs and went
to the closet, she beheld her poor little prisoner dead in his wire
cage. "See, Alfred, (said she), here is the poor mouse dead!"

Alfred at first was glad; but when he saw what a pretty one it was, he
was sorry, but contented himself by saying to the dead mouse, "If you
had not been in the cupboard doing so much mischief, you would not
have been killed!"

When he had said his lesson, his mother said to him, "Now, Alfred,
shall I tell you a story?" Alfred was very fond of hearing a story, if
it was not too long, and he asked his mother, if this would be a long
one.

"I don't wish to tire you, (said his mother), so I will only tell you
part of it this morning. Alfred fetched his little stool, and having
placed it at her side, fixed his eyes on her face while she related

THE HISTORY OF A FIELD MOUSE.

"In a wheat-stack, in Farmer Ball's yard, lived an old mouse with her
family, consisting of five little ones, the most worthy of which was a
pretty brown mouse, called Downy, because her fur was longer and
softer than either of her brothers and sisters, and besides being the
prettiest, she was likewise the wisest and best among them.

"Her mother was by birth a field-mouse; she had been carried among the
sheaves of wheat into the stack, with a great many more field-mice;
and had lived there, at the expence of farmer Ball, ever since.

"It was one fine clear morning, in the middle of March, that, as Downy
was peeping her little nose out of the straw at the edge of the stack,
to breathe a little fresh air, she saw the farmer with his men enter
the yard, and heard him tell the people that he would have the stack
taken into the barn and thrashed, and desired them to bid Fen, the
ratcatcher, come, and bring all his dogs with him.

"Poor Downy was in a terrible fright at hearing this; she ran to
acquaint her mother with it; and asked her what they had best do; but
her mother, who was but a foolish mouse, bade her not be under the
least alarm, for she was persuaded the farmer did not mean to take it
in just then; and added, it was time enough to think of it when the
men began; she told Downy to go to bed with the rest of her brothers
and sisters, and not to be afraid.

"But poor Downy was in great trouble about what she should do, and
could not sleep for thinking of the sad fate which threatened them;
she awakened her companions to consult with them; but her sisters only
laughed at her fear, and said, they would never leave a place where
they were so well off; and where they could get plenty of good corn,
only for the trouble of eating it. Her brothers were of the same
opinion, and added, they could run so swiftly, they were sure they
could soon get away into the field; but they expected they should live
very quietly yet for some time.

"Poor foolish little things! they did not think the danger was so
near; but they were awakened the next morning by the farmer's men
unroofing the stack, and they now wished they had hearkened to the
prudent advice of their sister Downy.

"Poor little Downy's heart almost died within her, when she heard the
barking of the dogs, and the hallooing of the men; how much rather
would she have been in the field, than in the warm stack! for she
heard the men drawing near to the place where they lay; and they were
all terribly afraid; and their mother, the old mouse, would go to see
how far the danger was from them. Imprudent creature! she ventured too
near; for a great black dog on the top of the stack, the moment the
men raised the sheaf where she was, snapped her up in an instant.

"Nothing was now to be heard but shrieks and cries from every side of
the stack; and the men drew nearer and nearer: Downy heard the last
cries of her brethren; the sheaf where she had taken refuge, was
already on the point of being raised, when she sprang through an
opening in the side, and was just going to run down, when she beheld a
great dog directly under her!

"Poor Downy gave herself up as lost, and awaited in trembling anxiety
her fate: for some moments she clung to the outside of the stack, not
daring to descend, yet fearing still more to stay; when, luckily for
our poor little mouse, some one called the dog, who instantly ran off;
and Downy, darting from the stack, had just time to gain a place of
security beneath a clod of earth, where she lay shaking with fear, not
daring to look up for some minutes.

"She shuddered with horror when she heard the dying groans of her
friends in the stack, and the shouts of the men encouraging the dogs;
many a poor mouse did she see running away in hopes of making its
escape, but pursued and devoured by the dogs.

"Several times poor Downy had like to have been discovered by the
dogs, or crushed beneath the horses' feet, but she crouched very close
to the ground, and lay so still, she hardly breathed, so great was her
fear; at length she watched an opportunity, when no one was near, to
quit her retreat, and ran with all the speed she could, not once
daring to pause or look behind, till she gained the farmer's orchard;
where she laid among the long grass, panting, and half dead with
terror and fatigue; she hid herself toward night under the roots of an
old apple-tree; for she was very much afraid of a great white owl
which she had seen flying near.

"It was in vain for her to lament the sad fate of her mother and
brethren; she could not recal them to life; and Downy was thankful
that she had escaped so well; but the cold weather was not gone yet,
and poor little Downy knew she had nothing to eat and no warm house to
live in; but must make herself one; and she was afraid she should be
starved to death with hunger, or die with cold. These thoughts
occupied her mind, till she fell asleep, nor did she awake next
morning till quite late, and found herself very hungry. She first
peeped out of her hole, and seeing nothing near to hurt her, she
ventured forth in search of some food; she rummaged among the dead
leaves for some time, without success, till chance led her to a row of
nut-trees; here, after a diligent search, she had the good fortune to
discover three nuts, one of which she eat, being very hungry, and the
rest she carried home to her tree; but Downy knew they would not last
long, and so thought it best to try and get more, she therefore
deposited them safely away, and sat off to look for more provisions;
she spent nearly the whole day among the nut-trees, but returned home
only with one nut; and a shower of snow falling, she was forced to
return to her dwelling, and did not go out any more that day, but laid
still, and thought how she should make herself a warm nest; for she
was very cold here, having been used to the close warm stack, where
scarce any air entered. She eat very sparingly of her nuts, saving as
much as possible for the morrow, fearing lest the snow should hinder
her looking for more; but there had not fallen much, and in the
morning, the sun coming out quite bright, melted it all; and Downy
left her tree to look for something to line her nest with, and for
more food. That being the first object, she began to search for some
first, and was more fortunate than before, as she discovered several
ears of corn, which had been blown by the wind off the stack; she
could hardly credit her good fortune, when she beheld her store and
saw it all safely lodged in her granary. Her next care was to line her
nest; for this purpose, (though it was very cold and frosty) she
collected all the bits of dried moss and grass she could find, and
carried them in her mouth to her new habitation; she nibbled off the
fibres which hung to the roots of the tree, and dried weeds, and soon
made her house quite warm and comfortable.

"She spent the remainder of the month of March, and the beginning of
April, in laying up stores of provision, and in enlarging the inside
of her house.

"The Spring began with some beautiful warm days, and everything looked
cheerful and gay; the crocusses were all in flower, and the primroses,
and snow-drops, with some early violets. Downy was rejoiced when she
saw the daisies in the orchard begin to shew their white heads above
the grass, and she took many a frisk out to enjoy the sunshine, and
was quite happy and content.

"One fine evening as she was returning to her house, she saw a
creature much like a weasel, only somewhat smaller, which she knew to
be a mousehunt, by what she had heard of them: he was prowling along
close by her tree, in hopes of catching her; he smelt about some time,
and at last went in. Poor little Downy was in a sad fright; she knew
not what to do, for she saw his head peeping out of her hole, and his
cunning black eye looking round in every direction.

"When little Downy saw the mousehunt take possession of her house, she
knew she must not venture there again, and was in great distress, as
to where she should pass the night securely; at last she found a hole
in the bank, and into this she crept, though very much alarmed for
fear of her enemy's discovering her; she dared not go to sleep at all
that night; nor did she stir out next day, till forced by hunger to
seek for food; she did not see any thing of the mousehunt, but she
resolved to leave the orchard and seek a safer spot for her new
habitation.

"Accordingly, next day, she sat off to look for a proper situation;
she passed through the orchard hedge into a beautiful green meadow,
all covered with daisies, red clover, cowslips, and golden buttercups.
Here Downy resolved to find a place to live in: and she whisked about
under the tall heads of the cowslips and buttercups; at last she fixed
on a little green mound, such an one as you, Alfred, call a fairy's
throne, and here she began to scratch with her fore feet, till she had
made a little opening in the turf, and she used such diligence, that
before night she had made a hole large enough to sleep in, and though
it was not lined or so warm as her house under the old apple-tree, yet
she slept so sound that she never awoke till the sun had risen quite
high in the heavens.

"Downy jumped up in a hurry when she saw how late it was: the birds
had been up hours before her, and were all busily employed building
their nests; every bush resounded with the songs of these little
creatures while at work, and Downy knew she must not be idle, for she
had much to do; being very hungry she first went to an oak which grew
at some little distance, and here she found plenty of acorns among the
leaves--of these she made a hearty meal, and carried some to where she
was at work. With a great deal of care and labour she dug her house
and made it quite round and smooth, as she went on, carrying it in a
slanting direction along the hollow side of the hill. It cost poor
Downy many a long day's hard work before her house was completed, and
many a weary nibble before she had finished lining the inside of it.
Her next care was to make a secure room for stowing away her winter
stores; for this purpose, she made an opening on one side of her first
room, and carried a passage along some little distance, and then
formed her store chamber, which she was a long time making, but it was
at length completed perfectly to her own satisfaction, having rendered
it a most convenient granery. She had now nothing to do but find feed
for herself, and play, but Downy never came home without bringing
something useful for her house, either a bit of straw or hay, a little
tuft of moss, or the dried stalk of a flower; these she cut with her
teeth into little bits, and laid in her nest to make it soft and warm.

"Downy was now quite happy, her mound was all covered with flowers,
fine cowslips, and butter-cups, and tuft of daisies grew close to the
entrance of her house, and served to hide it from the eyes of owls,
mousehunts, or any of the enemies to poor mice; and Downy thought
herself quite secure from all dangers: of a beautiful moonlight night
she used just to peep out from under the daisies, and look at the dew
drops all shining like diamonds in the moon-beams, and once she
whisked on to the top of her green mount, and began to play among the
flowers, but she was alarmed by the sight of a small dog running
through the high grass, and she quickly retreated into her house; nor
was she so imprudent again as venture out after it grew dusk. And now
the grass grew long and high, the flowers began to lose their beauty,
and turn brown; every thing proclaimed the approach of summer.

"The month of June began, and the mowers came to cut down the grass;
Downy was fearful that they would molest her, and spoil her house,
when they came near the little mount; but she trusted to the chance
that they might not discover it, and she laid quite close all day.

"But poor little Downy was very sorry to see all the nice high grass
and pretty flowers cut down to the ground, those flowers which had
sheltered her from the sun and rain for so long.

"'And now, (thought she), I shall certainly be caught by the great
white owl; for he will be able to see me now; and I can't hide myself
under the long grass and dandelions, as I used to do, for they are all
cut down and spoiled.'--Poor little Downy was in a great fright all
the time that the hay-makers were at work, and when she found them
coming near her house, with their great pitchforks in their hands, she
remembered the fate of her mother, and all her brothers and sisters in
the stack, and she thought that she should be safer in the bank of the
garden hedge; which was not far off. She watched an opportunity when
no one was looking, and hastened away to the hedge as fast as she
could, and creeping in laid quite snug; she remained in the bank the
whole day, and enjoyed herself more than could be expected, for the
weather was extremely pleasant, and there was a fine bed of ripe wild
strawberries close by, which smelt quite refreshing. Though Downy
dared not venture back into the field for fear of being killed (for
mice are but timid little things) yet she was very happy all that day;
and when she saw the men leave the field with the pitchforks which had
caused her so much terror, she returned to her nest, and slept that
night on some new hay which she had nibbled, and brought into her
house to lay on. As soon as it was day, away ran careful Downy to the
bank; she peeped through the hedge, and saw every thing in the garden
looking very pleasant. So Miss Downy thought she should like to spend
this day in the beautiful shady garden; in she went, and soon found it
as charming as it looked; for the garden abounded in plenty of good
things; there were peas, and beans, and potatoes, and young carrots,
and beds of ripe red strawberries. Downy did nothing but eat and enjoy
herself the whole day, and did not think of returning home that day,
nor for many days afterwards, for she said to herself--'What
occasion is there for me to go back to the meadow, where I have so
much trouble to get food, for here is more than I could ever eat, and
I have no trouble in getting it at all--and I am sure no mischief will
happen to me here!' So she gave no thought of her nice house in the
field, but amused herself by eating all the day long; till she grew
quite fat, and Downy thought she was happier than ever she had been in
the field, and she grew very indolent, for she now began to think that
there was no occasion for her to work, but she said to herself, she
would play all day; and here she shewed herself to be a very simple
little mouse, (as it proved in what befel her). She had been living in
the garden for nearly a month, when one fine sunshiny day, she had
ventured nearer to the house than usual, and was lying reposing
herself in the sun by a clod of dirt, near a rain-water butt, when she
was disturbed by a noise near her, and to her horror she beheld the
black cat with a fine kitten by her side, proceeding down the walk
where she lay; to escape was almost impossible, even the attempt was
vain, and hapless Downy gave herself up for lost. A month back, and
she might have trusted to her own speed for escaping--but, alas! Downy
had so long been used to do nothing but eat and enjoy herself, that
she was no longer able to run as swiftly as she used to do; she dared
not even move a step, and sat in an agony of hopeless despair.

"Downy now lamented her folly in having left her safe retreat in the
meadow: what would she now have given to have been in her own little
house under the mole hill? and she bitterly regretted ever having been
tempted to quit it, for there no cats ever came, and there she had
lived in innocence and happiness, whilst now she was doomed to fall a
victim to the merciless claws of a hungry cat, who would devour her
alive: she lay breathless! not a limb did she move, scarce did she
even draw her breath, for the cat approached within a yard of the spot
where she laid, and----" "Oh! poor Downy! (cried Alfred,) how sorry I
am!--but, mamma, did that wicked cat kill her? do, dear mamma, make
haste and tell me."--"Why, Alfred," said his mother, "you would not
wait for me to tell you whether she was killed or not: I am sure you
could not feel sorry for the death of a _nasty brown mouse_; you hate
mice, they are such little thieves."--Little Alfred blushed at what
his mother said, for he remembered they were his own words, and said
to his mother, "Dear mamma, I think I will never wish for the death of
any thing again, and I am very sorry I had that mouse killed; I will
never kill another mouse, if it was to eat all the cakes you mean to
give me when I am a good boy." Mrs. Clifford not help smiling at her
little boy, but went on.--

"The cat, as I said before, was close to the clod of earth on which
luckless Downy stood, and when she believed her death certain, she had
the inexpressible joy of finding that her motionless posture had been
the means of saving her from the vigilant eyes of the cat, who passed
on quite unconcerned without taking any notice of her prey. For an
instant Downy could scarce credit her own eyes when she saw her enemy
pass on; but fearing that if puss should return, she should not again
escape so miraculously, she darted away as she hoped unseen, but,
silly little thing! she had better have laid where she was, for the
kitten beheld her as she ran, and sprung upon her. Poor Downy felt her
claws, but exerting all her speed, she flew to the hedge--this
friendly hedge which had so often been her refuge, and darting among
the tangled roots of the hawthorn and ivy, left her pursuers far
behind, and, exhausted with terror and fatigue, remained trembling and
panting till she was half dead. Still she heard the mews of the
disappointed kitten, and the angry purrs of the old cat--who sat
watching about the bank for more than an hour, waiting to seize her if
she ventured forth,[*] but that poor Downy was not in a condition to
do, for her poor back still ached with the bruise the kitten had given
her, and she felt in such a panic, she could not have stirred a step
if she had seen a dozen cats. For two whole days poor little Downy
thought she should have died, and when she was a little better and
began to feel hungry, there was nothing for her to eat but hay seeds
and ivy leaves, or the roots of the trees, and Downy, who had of late
been used to such good fare, could not bear to eat such dry
unpalatable food as this was.

    [Footnote *: The above-mentioned circumstance, improbable as it
    may appear, I myself was witness to in the garden not many paces
    from the door of the house; when the poor little mouse actually
    escaped the eyes of a cat and her kitten, who passed within a yard
    of the spot where it stood, by standing in that motionless manner
    on the top of a clod of earth, nor was it discovered till it left
    its station, and though caught by the kitten, yet it finally
    escaped unhurt to the garden hedge.]

"When she used to spend her time in labour and industry, she eat the
hardest fare with an excellent appetite, and was thankful and
contented with the least bit of any thing she got, but now she turned
away disgusted at the coarse food, and it was not until pinched by
hunger, that she would eat any of it. And now Downy began to consider
within herself, whether it would not have been much better and wiser
for her to have returned back to her own house in the meadow, instead
of living so long in idleness and luxury; and Downy found that
idleness brings its own punishment sooner or later, for had she been
at home she would not have been so frightened by the cat, or nearly
killed by the kitten; or even if a cat had come near her nice nest,
she would have run away much faster than she did now, for being then
smaller and thinner, she was much nimbler; nor was her daintiness the
least evil that attended her long indulgence, and this she felt more
severely now she was ill and could not go out to find good food; she
had suffered so much with pain and terror, that she resolved never to
go into the garden again, excepting to get provisions when in want.
With a sad and penitent heart Downy once more returned to her old
habitation, but, alas! what was her grief on beholding it a complete
ruin; her nice warm nest all destroyed, and the pretty green mound
quite spoiled! Downy was sadly vexed, for the cruel hay-makers had
with their pitchforks torn open the turf and scattered her soft bed
all round on the grass. She stood gazing with anguish on the desolate
scene before her; here was all her spring work entirely ruined, and
now she was ill and had no where to lay her head. 'Ah!' thought she,
'if I had not spent so much time in doing nothing but eating and
playing, I should have escaped the danger of being caught by the cat,
and should not have been hurt by the kitten, besides which I think by
this time I might have made up my nest, and have been quite
comfortable again. She was hardly able to work, and what was far
worse, she felt very great reluctance to begin her laborious task,
so much harm had her living so long in indolence done her, as it does
to every one who indulges in it. Remember, my little Alfred, that
idleness is the root of all evil, as you may see in the case of
Downy:--now which do you think was the happiest and best,--careful and
industrious Downy making her house, and busily procuring food for
herself against the winter,--or careless idle Downy doing nothing but
playing and enjoying herself in the garden, eating the fruit, and
sleeping among the flowers? now tell me, which do you like best of the
two?" Alfred considered for a minute or two, and then said, "Why, dear
mamma, though I should have liked to have eaten the nice things in the
garden, and lived among the flowers, yet I see that it would have been
better for Downy if she had always remained in the field and worked
hard; but I am afraid I should have been as silly as Downy, and not
liked work."

"That is what I was afraid of, therefore, my dear child, I thought it
best to shew you how wrong she was in indulging herself in that
manner; and be assured that, whoever does so, will fall into
misfortune.

"Necessity obliged Downy at last to overcome her extreme reluctance to
work, and she once more began to look out for a proper place for her
new habitation; she visited all the green mounds in the meadow, but
alas! they were occupied by the ant, and poor Downy was quite out of
patience--and at last she was, though with reluctance, forced to take
up her lodgings in the side of the garden bank, quite at the farther
end, where no cats ever came, and at last, finding it was to her own
interest to work, she resolved not to be idle any more, and laboured
as hard as ever she had done, and soon completed her new dwelling,
having made it a most commodious habitation, in which she lived very
happily all the summer. When the harvest time arrived, then was Downy
very busy; she went into a neighbouring wheat field, and there she
made a good harvest for herself, and laid in a handsome store of grain
for her winter supply. In her journeys to the corn-fields she met many
mice, who, like her, were gathering in their winter stock of
provisions; but Downy would not stay in the corn-fields, because she
remembered the fate of her nest while she was gone in the garden, so
she came home very regularly every night.

"Nothing of any consequence happened to Miss Downy till the latter end
of the Autumn; for some days she had missed her provisions, but could
not account for it in any way, and was at a loss to know who it could
be that devoured the fruits of her daily labour, but one morning when
she returned from gleaning in the stubble-fields, she was greatly
surprised, on entering her house, to behold a young stranger busily
employed in breakfasting in her granery; she stopped at the entrance
of her house to examine her visitor, and was struck by the beauty of
his form; he was of a reddish colour, his hair very long and thick,
his breast and fore-feet of a pale buff, and his belly white; he had a
nice round face, and small oval ears, with quick lively brown eyes and
long handsome black whiskers; in short, he was the prettiest mouse
Downy had ever seen, though he was a sad little thief, and had eaten a
great deal of her store. He appeared at first much disconcerted at
being disturbed and discovered in his depredation, and looked round on
every side for an opening to escape at, but none appearing, he stood
still, and scratched his ear with one of his hind feet, assuming as
unconcerned an air as he could possibly put on; Downy was not sorry
she had discovered who was the thief, but she soon forgave him, though
she could not help thinking he was a very dishonest mouse to come
every day and rob her as he had done, but he was so pretty, and made
so humble an apology for his intruding into her house, that she could
not find it in her heart to be angry with him long, and they soon
became very good friends, and at last he proposed her taking him as a
partner, which the simple Downy agreed to without hesitation, and
shared her house and provisions with the handsome young stranger, who
behaved with great decorum for some time, and was very careful to mind
what Downy said to him, but at last he began to throw off his
restraint, and was often getting into mischief in spite of the sage
advice of Downy, who took great pains to warn him from such evil
practices; but Silket would frisk in the garden, robbing the
newly-planted bean and pea crops with the greatest audacity, not
minding what careful Downy said, who represented to him the danger he
run of being killed by cats, or mousehunts, or caught in traps; but
Silket, like a naughty mouse as he was, only laughed and made light of
her fears; and when at last she appeared vexed at his disobedience, he
promised never to go into the garden again; but, like many more, he
broke his promise directly he was out of her sight; and beside this,
he was sadly idle, and was I am sorry to say, much fonder of play than
work, and Downy was obliged to remonstrate with him on such bad
behaviour, and said, 'Silket, how can you expect me to work for both
you and myself? you are a sad partner. Silket was very humble, and
promised to be more industrious for the future, and that very
afternoon he ransacked a new crop of peas, which the gardener had sown
that day, and came home laden with the spoils; next day he brought
home hoard of nuts from the garden, and Downy thought if he would but
continue so good, she should be very happy, for her Silket was a very
pretty creature, and she was very fond of him. But pretty creatures
are not always the best, as she soon found to her cost, for when the
weather set in cold, then Mr. Silket refused to work, or even to stir
out of the house, but lay rolled round like a ball in the soft hay,
and slept, only just getting up to eat; and Downy was much grieved,
for she feared their stock of food would never last out the winter,
if he did not help her make some addition to it, but Silket begged her
not to be under any concern, for there was plenty for them both; and
on her again expressing her fears on the subject, he gave her two or
three severe bites on her ear, and squeaked most vehemently, shewing
his anger at being found fault with, and then laid down again with a
sulky air of displeasure; while poor Downy almost broken-hearted,
slowly and full of sorrow, left her house, and strolled along the side
of the bank quite disconsolate, and she resolved never to go back
again to her ungrateful husband, who had treated her so unkindly, but
leave him in quiet possession of her dwelling.

"Simple little Downy! she might have known beforehand how he would
have treated her, as she was so well acquainted with his propensity to
stealing, and she was a very foolish mouse to take for a partner one
who shewed, from the first, that he liked better to play about and
steal, than to labour and get an honest living. Downy ought to have
considered all this, but she thought him so pretty, that she forgot
all his misdeeds, and very imprudently shared her food and house with
him. It is true, that he promised very fair, and said he would work
for her, and that she should have nothing to do but just to eat, and
sleep, and play; and Downy (who did not think that such a pretty soft
creature could tell so many stories) believed all he said, and this
was the consequence of her imprudence.

"So you see, Alfred, that we must not always judge by appearances,
because I know rather a pretty creature, with bright blue eyes, who,
like Silket, can steal, and tell fibs, and who likes to play better
than learn a lesson and read." Alfred coloured up, for he knew all
along that his mother meant he was like Silket; so he felt a little
ashamed, and did not make any answer; and his mother continued her
story.

"Poor little Downy laid bewailing her sad misfortune in the cold damp
grass, determining never to go home to her little tyrant again, so
angry was she at his cruel conduct.--'Ah! foolish mouse that I was,
(said she), why did not I continue to live by myself when I was so
happy! I might have known how he would have behaved to me, but I will
never return to him, he may enjoy by himself that food which he loves
so much more than he does me, ungrateful that he is!' In this manner
she was uttering her complaints, when she heard a soft padding step
behind her, and a mournful noise made her turn round, and she beheld
her penitent Silket, (for it was him) who advancing with a sorrowful
air, humbly besought her forgiveness, and rubbed his velvet cheek in
an imploring manner against her's; his lively brown eyes were now
troubled, and very sorrowful. Downy could not resist his beseeching
looks, but forgave him for all his past offences, and took him once
more into favour, on his promising to be good in future and never to
bite her ears or tail again. Silket was very sorry for his late bad
behaviour, and he resolved to be very good and do so no more, for he
did love Downy very much, though he loved himself better. He
accompanied her home with great affection, and they were happier for
some weeks than they had ever been before; he was so attentive and
kind, and seemed to study only to please her; he spent day after day
in searching among the dry leaves in the garden for filberts; and when
he could not procure any thing else, he brought her crocus roots, and
carrots out of the garden.

One evening he had been out later than usual, he did not see Downy's
bright eyes looking out from among the dry leaves and moss for his
return, and he was fearful some ill had befallen her. As he approached
the house, he thought he heard several little squeaking sounds, and on
entering his nest, found that Downy in his absence had become the
mother of four ittle helpless blind mice, which she was suckling.
Silket was overjoyed, he licked the little ones with much affection,
and behaved with the greatest tenderness to Downy; he presented her
the filbert he had brought home, and praised the beauty of his little
family, though none but himself could see that they possessed any, for
little mice are very ugly till they can open their eyes, and have got
fur on them; for like puppies, and kittens, and rabbits, they are all
born blind, and do not open their eyes for many days after.

No mouse could behave better than Silket now did; he would not suffer
Downy to stir out in the cold, on any account, for, though it was the
latter end of March, the weather was unusually severe, and the frost
very hard; Silket was out almost the whole day searching for nice food
for Downy, and getting soft moss to keep his young ones warm,--but one
day he grieved Downy much and did a deal of mischief,--he wanted
something to cover his little ones with, and what did he do, but went
into the garden to the hedge where Mrs. Ball had hung out her linen to
dry, and the wicked Silket gnawed and bit one of the old lady's white
aprons almost to pieces, carrying home as many of the rags as his
mouth would hold, to his house. Downy was sadly vexed when she heard
what he had been doing, and she was forced to read him a very long
lecture on being so mischievous, while Mr. Mischief amused himself by
laying the rags out to the greatest advantage, admiring the white
quilt he had brought home for his little ones' bed, and secretly
resolving to go and fetch the remaining fragments, and though he saw
how grave Downy looked, he did not think he had done so much harm in
biting the old lady's apron; so he cast a cunning eye at Downy, to see
if she was observing him, for he wanted sadly to get the rest of the
apron, only he did not like to disoblige her commands, and get another
scolding; but she saw what he was after, and she begged him not to go,
for she said, she knew that such mischievous ways would come to no
good end, and that he would get caught in a trap, or killed by some
cat, or fall into some great danger, 'And, (added she,) what should I
do, Silket, left with these four helpless little mice to provide for?'
Silket immediately saw the impropriety of his conduct, and he never
spoiled any more of good Mrs. Ball's linen, though he often came in
the way of it. The poor old lady was greatly disturbed at the
misfortune which had befallen her best muslin apron, and threatened to
have the ratcatcher's dogs and ferrets to hunt the garden and the
hedge, if any thing more was destroyed; so that it was a good thing
that Silket took Downy's advice in that respect, or he would certainly
have been killed for his pains.

"At the end of three weeks the little mice began to be quite lively,
and to grow very pretty little creatures; they much resembled their
father in his mischeivous inclinations, and it needed all Downy's
prudent management to keep them in order, for they would frisk out of
their nest, and scud about in the meadow, going so for out of sight,
and staying so late, that Downy was in a great fright lest any mishap
should befall them, as to Silket, he seemed to take great delight in
their pranks.

They would lay on the bank, enjoying themselves and basking in the
sun, almost all day long. When it was fine weather, sometimes, one
bolder than the rest would run up a little tree not more than a yard
high, and clinging to the top, look down with triumph on his
companions; then, if he heard the dead leaves shake, the timid little
thing whisked down, and away they all four scudded, hiding themselves
in the holes of the hedge, till they thought the danger past.

Downy now began to feel the cares of a family, and she was often much
grieved at the disobedient behaviour of the little mice. Velvet was
the only good-behaved one, and she was bad enough in all reason. They
were incorrigible little thieves, which quality they inherited from
their father, for no sooner were their parents out of the way, than
they found their way to the granary, and though Downy and Silket were
all day busied in getting food for them, and fed them with the best of
every thing, the wicked little things stole the corn, and eat even
more than they wanted; they grew so fat and sleek and wanton, that all
the field-mice in the meadow declared they were quite spoiled, and
Downy ought to keep them under more restraint, and punish them when
they behaved ill. As they grew older they grew worse and worse; Downy
had warned them of all the dangers which they ran in roaming so far
from home, and told them of the cat that haunted the garden, and of
the mousehunt, and the great white owl, but these bad mice paid no
attention to what their kind good mother said to them.

"Among other things, she begged them not to go near the brick traps
which the gardener had set among the beans and peas, to entice simple
mice to eat the bait, and then they were sure to be killed, by the
trap falling on them; but they did not regard those prudent counsels
in the least, and a day or two after, they all sallied out into the
garden, (with Whitefoot, their leader) in search of something nice.
After they had rummaged the ground under the nut-tree for some time
without finding a single nut, they came to a row of late-sown peas;
these they made a terrible havoc amongst, regardless of their mother's
advice. They were going home, well pleased with their regale, when,
unluckily, Whitefoot espied a parcel of nice wheat, laid out very
carefully under a sort of brick house; now Whitefoot run all round it
and thought it stood too firm to be knocked down, and as he was rather
greedy, he determined to venture under, and eat up the wheat; he was
in such a hurry, for fear that either of his companions should come
and want to share his prize, that, in his haste, he pushed down a bit
of a stick which held the brick up--down it fell, and hapless
Whitefoot was crushed to death in an instant.

"This was the effects of his disobedience to his mother.

"The noise of the fallen brick alarmed the timid little mice; away
they ran as fast as they could, nor did they once stop to look behind
to see what had become of their brother Whitefoot, who was found next
morning by the gardener, under the brick, and was given to the black
cat to eat. Now had he minded what his mother had told him the day
before, he would have been alive and frisking about with the rest.
See, Alfred, what comes of disobedience and greediness." said his
mother. "Yes, mamma, (said Alfred) I will remember how poor Whitefoot
was served, and not disobey you, though you know, I could not be
killed by a brick trap as he was." "No, Alfred, but you might get hurt
in a hundred different ways by going where I bid you not--recollect
when I had so often told you not to play with the fire, how you burnt
your hand, by lighting bits of paper; and if I had not come in, you
would have been burnt to death." "Yes, mamma, and it hurt me so much,
I have never done it since." "No more would Whitefoot have gone near a
trap again, if he had only broken one of his limbs, instead of being
killed, but he should have minded what was said at first. But you
shall hear how the others behaved after his death.

"Downy was much shocked at the death of her poor Whitefoot, and she
told the other little mice to take warning by their brother's sad
fate, and not go near any more brick traps, but be contented with the
food which she and their father provided for them. This they promised
to do, and they were very sorry for the loss of Whitefoot, who was the
most nimble of them all, and at the head of all their pranks, for he
was usually the ring-leader and the most daring of the party.

"For a few days they were more orderly, but their bad habits returned
again, and they forgot all their promises, and were as naughty as ever
they had been--even Silket was shocked at them, and was forced to
chastise the two most unruly, by biting their ears. Wilful run away,
and came to a most untimely death.--He invaded, one night, a bee-hive,
and made great havoc in the stores of honey, eating the honey-combs,
and destroying the work of the poor bees--but at last he was punished
severely, for the bees, enraged at his lawless conduct, came in a
body, and stung their enemy in a thousand different places, so that,
unable to escape, he died in great agony."

"And did bees ever sting a mouse to death in that manner, mamma?"
asked Alfred. "Yes, Alfred, and if you are a good boy, I will read you
a long account of bees, and how they build their cells, and make their
wax and honey." "But, mamma, there is nothing about their killing a
mouse in it, is there?" "Yes, my dear child, I will tell you all about
it one day, but let me finish my story first."

"There were now only two young mice left, Velvet and Sprightly. Velvet
was so shocked at the bad end which her two brothers had come to, that
she resolved not to be naughty again, but try by her good conduct, to
make amends for her thoughtless behaviour--but when she told Sprightly
of her intentions, the wicked Sprightly ridiculed her, and said she
should go and seek her fortune in the meadow and garden, where no one
could scold her, and where she might do as she pleased; and with this
resolution she set off, and they never saw her again; for having no
house to go to, the white owl saw her as he was flying out one
evening, and soon made an end of Miss Sprightly, who had better have
staid at home with Velvet, and her father and mother. Velvet was the
comfort and pride of her parents; she helped them in all their
labours, and assisted them in enlarging their house, and providing
food against the winter. As she encreased in goodness, she grew
prettier, and every one admired her, she was so clean, and her skin
was as soft as satin, and looked quite bright and glossy. Velvet was
generally up and abroad before sunrise, and enjoyed being out in the
dew; she always returned home loaded with grain; and they were all
quite happy and comfortable; for Silket was very good, and Downy had
nothing to make her uncomfortable, being blessed with a good husband
and a good daughter.

"But a sad accident happened which deprived poor Downy of all means of
providing for her wants, and gave Silket and Velvet the greatest pain
and uneasiness on her account. One day, Downy had been by herself in
the garden, and in passing under a gooseberry bush, she did not see a
trap which had been set to catch little birds, and it caught one of
her poor little feet, and she lay struggling in the greatest pain,
and shrieking lamentably--at last by a violent effort, she got loose,
but with the loss of one of her fore-feet. Sadly wounded, and crying
piteously, she at last gained her home, and Silket and Velvet found
her exhausted with pain, and almost dying; they were greatly grieved
at the misfortune, and lamented bitterly the sad fate of poor Downy,
and they feared greatly lest they should lose her, but good nursing
and great care at last restored her, in some measure, after which
Velvet and Silket would never permit her to go out to get food, but
always brought the best for her, and she lived quite at her ease, only
she never was so strong as before.

"Velvet strove by all the means in her power, to make her mother
happy; that she might not feel her misfortune so severely; and she
succeeded so well that Downy became quite cheerful and contented, and
never complained or repined at her lameness.

"The Summer passed happily away, but the sudden death of poor Silket,
once more filled them with grief. The innocent little creature was
sleeping under the nut-trees in the garden, one warm morning in
September; he had been collecting nuts to carry home, but being tired,
he laid down to repose himself in the sun, and unfortunately fell
asleep, nor did he wake till he found himself in the grasp of the
merciless black cat, who springing upon her defenceless prey,
strangled him in an instant. There was no fond Downy near, nor
affectionate Velvet, to receive his last sighs, nor give him aid.
The evening came, but no Silket returned to the disconsolate Downy;
another day passed, but they saw nothing of Silket, and they were at
last certain that he must have been killed. This heavy blow almost
overcame Downy, and it was with the greatest difficulty, Velvet could
persuade her to eat and be comforted; but every thing around them
served to recall the image, and remind them of the loss, of their
beloved Silket, and this gave them both great pain. At last, Velvet,
without saying any thing to her mother, stole away while she was
asleep, and having found a pretty spot, some way from farmer Ball's
land, she made a new house, much more convenient than the one they
then lived in; it was a long time before it was completed, but when it
was quite finished, and well stocked with grain, she brought Downy to
see it: it was situated in a pretty garden, on a beautiful sloping
green bank, under the shade of a fir tree, not many yards from a nice
white brick house, the front of which was covered with vines and
wall-fruit; there were pots of balsams and geraniums, placed on the
beds opposite the windows and glass door."

"Why, mamma, (exclaimed Alfred, suddenly looking up in his mother's
face,) that was just like our garden, and our house." and he ran to
the window, and looked out into the garden, saying with great
vivacity, "Yes, mamma, it is the same; it is our garden with the
fir-tree and the bank, and all the flowers, exactly the same!" And he
turned an inquiring eye unto his mother.

Mrs. Clifford smiled, but made no reply to his exclamations of
surprise, and went on as if she had not heard him. "In this quiet
pretty spot they settled themselves, and Downy hoped to spend the rest
of her days in quiet; she wanted for nothing, for Velvet provided for
all her wants. Downy thought, if she should ever be deprived of her,
it would break her heart, and she must soon be starved to death, as
she could not work now, as she had done formerly. These thoughts made
her often very sorrowful, and Velvet thought she seemed to droop, and
lose her spirits and appetite, so Velvet thought to get something nice
to please her; she stole into the house one day, when nobody saw her,
and after some little time, she found her way into the cupboard, where
she smelt something very nice, and beheld a new plum-cake. 'Ah!' said
she, 'how my sick mother will like a bit of this cake!' so having made
a hearty meal herself off it, she carried away the rest for her
mother, not thinking she had done any harm."

"Ah, mamma, (cried Alfred with tears in his eyes,) how I wish I had
not set the trap to catch that good Velvet; she might have had my
cake, and welcome, if I had but known what she took it for, how sorry
I am! I wish Velvet was alive again, with all my heart."

"Did not I tell you, Alfred, you would be sorry for killing the _nasty
brown mouse_, before the day was over."

"Oh! yes, dear mamma, and so I am indeed; I wish you had told me the
story before, and then I should not have set the trap.--And so I
suppose poor Downy will die, because she has no one to feed her."

"Well, Alfred, shall I finish my story?

"Yes, if you please, mamma, but you don't know any more of it, do
you?" "Only this, when Downy found Velvet did not return, she died of
grief. Thus ended the LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF THE FIELD-MOUSE."

"Ah, mamma," cried Alfred, bursting into tears, "what a cruel boy I
have been! I have killed both Downy and Velvet--I will never be so
cruel again."

Mrs. Clifford, charmed with the sensibility of her little boy, kissed
him most tenderly, saying, "Dry your tears, my sweet Alfred, and
resolve not to be so desirous of the death of a little animal again.
Though it is very necessary to kill them sometimes, or they would soon
destroy all our food and clothes; still when we are forced from
necessity to kill any thing, we should do it with as much humanity as
we can, and never inflict on them unnecessary pain. I should myself
have been forced to set the trap for Velvet, only I did not like to
see my little Alfred, merely from revenge, wishing so eagerly for the
death of a poor mouse, who did not know it was doing any harm in
eating the cake."

Alfred kissed his mother, and thanked her for her kindness in telling
him the story; and wiping his tears away, went into the garden to play
till tea was ready.

    THE END.

Dean and Munday, Printers, Threadneedle-street.

Errors and Inconsistencies (noted by transcriber)

Spellings such as "recal" and "befel", and "eat" as a past-tense form,
are unchanged. The author almost always uses "lay" (present) for
"lie", and "laid" for "lay" (past); no attempt was made to correct
these forms.

  and sat off to look for more provisions
  she sat off to look for a proper situation
    [_both unchanged; "set off" occurs only once_]
  her mound was all covered with flowers  [monnd]
  her nice warm nest all destroyed  [destoyed]
  will fall into misfortune  [misfortue]
  his intruding into her house  [kouse]
  he brought home hoard of nuts
    [_text unchanged: missing "a"?_]
  and Downy (who did not think ... so many stories)
    [(and Downy who did not ...)]
  four ittle helpless blind mice
    [_error uncorrected because it was irresistible_]
  which she was suckling.  [suckling,]
  to get the rest of the apron,  [_comma invisible_]
  his mischeivous inclinations  [_spelling unchanged_]
  This was the effects of his disobedience  [_text unchanged_]
  ... looked quite bright and glossy.  [glossy,]
  ... up and abroad before sunrise,  [sunrise.]
    [_these matching errors come at consecutive line-ends_]
  exactly the same!"  [same?"]


Produced by hekula03, Brian Wilcox and the Online

Transcriber’s Notes:—

Italic text is denoted _thus_.

The spelling, hyphenation and punctuation are as the original, except
for apparent typographical errors which have been corrected.

A table of contents has been added by the transcriber.

  THE

  TRIAL

  OF

  CAPTAIN JOHN KIMBER,

  For Murder, &c.

  [PRICE ONE SHILLING.]

  THE

  TRIAL

  OF

  CAPTAIN JOHN KIMBER,

  FOR

  THE MURDER

  OF

  TWO FEMALE NEGRO SLAVES,

  ON BOARD THE

  _Recovery, African Slave Ship_.

  Tried at the ADMIRALTY SESSIONS, held at the OLD BAILY
  the 7th of JUNE, 1792.

  Before Sir JAMES MARRIOT, &c.

  TAKEN IN SHORT HAND

  By a STUDENT of the TEMPLE.

  To which are added,

  OBSERVATIONS on the above TRIAL.

  _LONDON_:

  Printed and Sold by C. STALKER, No. 4, Stationers-Court,
  Ludgate-Street.

CONTENTS.

                     Page
  INTRODUCTION          v
  THE TRIAL             1

INTRODUCTION.

On a business which has so long agitated the public mind as the
Slave Trade, every thing that can be said, must in some manner be
interesting. The atrocity of that unnatural and abominable custom could
not in any instance have been more abundantly manifested, than in the
late decision of a large majority in the House of Commons.

Perhaps the procrastination of the same important question, in a
superior House, may be productive of greater good than the people of
England are aware of. Perhaps it may upon the next discussion lead to
an immediate and total abolition of a cruel and inhuman traffic. It
cannot but be lamented that a personage of the first rank, who could
have no other motive except that of love for uncontroulable tyranny,
should become so strenuous an advocate for slavery. He has more than
once expressed his sentiments in public, and on the present occasion
seemed to have comported himself with an extraordinary degree of zeal,
which whether it became the dignity of a P——— in such a cause, we
shall not take on us to determine, but leave it to the world to judge
of the propriety of such conduct.

Whatever the public opinion may be relative to the prosecution carried
on against Captain Kimber, who has been (we suppose fairly) acquitted
by an English Jury, it was evidently a necessary and a useful measure.
It may afford a salutary lesson to those captains of slave ships,
and masters of slaves who should hereafter attempt to commit such
horrid outrages as he has been charged with: and it may, from the
circumstances here related, (for such barbarities have doubtless been
often practised) fill the minds of men universally with horror against
the present system: until tyranny shall at length give way to public
opinion, and liberty and happiness be restored to human beings.

THE

TRIAL

OF

CAPTAIN JOHN KIMBER,

For Murder, &c.

This trial came on at the Admiralty Sessions held at the Old Baily, on
Thursday the 7th of June 1792; before Sir James Marriot, Judge Advocate
of the Admiralty, Mr. Justice Ashurst, and Mr. Baron Hotham.

The prisoner was indicted for having feloniously, wickedly, and with
malice aforethought, beaten and tortured a female slave, so as to cause
her death: and he was again indicted for having caused the death of
another female slave.

Mr. Broderic on the side of the prosecution, first opened the cause.

Sir William Scott next stated, that the prisoner, Captain Kimber, had
commanded the ship RECOVERY, which traded in slaves from the
Coast of Africa, to the West Indies: that in 1791, he arrived in the
river of Calabar, whence he had, in some time after, departed with
a cargo of slaves, among whom was that negro girl, for whose murder
the prisoner now stood indicted. She had been for a considerable time
afflicted with a loathsome distemper, and a lethargic complaint, which
prevented her from eating, or mixing in any of those exercises which
the other slaves on board were accustomed to practice. The prisoner
had her punished for this supposed obstinacy; flogged her, and had her
raised up by pullies from the deck, so that the tortures she endured,
caused her to languish for a few days, until she died.

I shall not, said the learned Council, enter into a detail of
circumstances, for that must appear by the evidence which is to be laid
before you Gentlemen of the Jury. Nor is it necessary that I should
make any observations on the heinousness of this offence, as that is
the province of the Court. And no doubt, your verdict will be given
with that discretion and impartiality, which has always been shewn on
similar occasions.

Mr. Thomas Dowling was first called, and examined by Mr. Attorney
General; he had been a surgeon on board the RECOVERY, the ship
which the prisoner commanded: in the beginning of June, he had arrived
in the river of Calabar, on the coast of Africa, where in the end of
August they had compleated their cargo of slaves. About the time of
sailing, he had under his care, a female slave, aged about fourteen
or fifteen years, who had been afflicted with a virulent gonorrhea,
and lethargy, or drowsy complaint, of which latter ailment he could
never learn the real cause. She was not then in a convalescent state:
but her diseases were stationary, and bore every probable appearance
of recovery. In this situation she could not eat, as the other slaves
did, nor join in any of their amusements, at which the Captain was so
irritated, that he used to flog her himself, with a whip, the handle
of which, was one foot long, and the lash two. About three weeks after
they had sailed, he beat her in this manner with uncommon severity;
and on the 22d of December, perceiving her not to dance with the other
negro women, he ordered a boy to bring a teakle, one end of which was
fastened to the _mizen stay_ and the other to one of her hands, and by
this she was lifted up from the deck, and remained suspended for about
five minutes: and during that time, she was bounsed up and down, or in
other words, lifted up, and let fall again, by the way, who had a hold
of the teakle.

She was then taken down and suspended in the same manner by the other
arm. She was next lifted up by one leg; and afterwards by the other:
until at last she was taken up for the fifth time by both hands, and
underwent the fifth excruciating suspension. The whole time from the
first to the last suspension, this witness said might have been half an
hour. While she continued hung up by both hands, the prisoner lashed
her inhumanly with his whip: and when she was let down, he forced her
to walk without any assistance down the hatchway: this she was unable
to do, having got but two or three steps, when she slipt all the rest
of the way.

When this witness next saw her she was welted in several parts of the
body, her hands were swelled in consequence of the hanging, and her
legs disfigured in a shocking manner: after this the witness saw her
in convulsions, had her brought on deck, and rubbed her with volatile
spirits; but every remedy was ineffectual: she languished away in this
miserable state for three days, and on the third expired.

All this happened in the middle passage about 200 leagues from Granada,
whither the RECOVERY with her cargo was bound. And the witness was
positive that the death of the slave was occasioned by the ill
treatment she had received.

The witness was cross-examined by Mr. Pigott leading council for the
prisoner.

Q. Has it been your undeviating opinion that the girl died in
consequence of the punishment said to have been inflicted on her?

A. It has.

Q. Was her death the subject of no conversation at that time among the
ship’s crew?

A. It was between me and Mr. Devereux; and I heard the two boys
Pearson and Cruise speak of it.

Q. How many men did the whole crew consist of?

A. About six and twenty.

Q. At what time of the day did the fact happen which you have related?

A. Some time in the forenoon.

Q. You heard no conversation about it, except that between the two boys?

A. No.

Q. Are these boys now absent?

A. I heard so, but cannot say.

Q. How many of the mariners do you think are now in this country?

A. I do not know. I mean to relate every fact which may go, as well to
subvert my own evidence, as make against the prisoner.

Q. What time did you arrive at Granada?

A. On the 28th of October.

Q. Did you disclose the death of this girl to any person at Granada?

A. No.

Q. How long were you there?

A. About a month.

Q. Did you go to the Custom-house while you were there?

A. I did.

Q. Did you keep a journal while you were on the middle passage?

A. Yes: of whites, but not of blacks.

Q. Did you deliver in your journal?

A. Yes.

Q. And swore to it?

A. The form of an oath was read to me, by a person sitting at a desk:
I took the book, and returned it without swearing.

Q. Did you sign the journal as sworn to it?

A. Yes I did.

Here Mr. Pigott read his oath, which declared that his journal was a
just and true one; and the attested copy being handed to the witness,
he declared, he did not recollect whether he had signed it or not.

Q. Is not that your name to the oath—and is it false or true?

A. I do not recollect that I signed it.

Q. Is your bond discharged?

A. Yes, I produced this copy at Bristol, to have it discharged.

Q. Why did not the cause of the death of the negro girl appear in your
journal?

A. The apprehensions I had for my own safety, while I sailed with the
prisoner, prevented me from relating it.

Q. Is it from disclosing a barbarous murder?

A. Yes; because the prisoner and I had often quarrelled, and I might
have been judged an improper evidence against him.

Q. At what place did you quarrel?

A. At the river of Calabar.

Q. Did you not mutiny?

A. Never.

Q. Did you not strike the prisoner?

A. I did, after he had abused and struck me on board his ship.

Q. You collared and held him?

A. Yes, at the cabin door; when the first and second mate came and
seized me, and by the prisoner’s orders, I was put into irons, where
I continued twenty-four hours; and I was afterwards excluded from the
cabin, and obliged to mess with the common men.

Q. Did you not tell a Mr. Jacks that you would be revenged on Captain
Kimber?

A. No, I never said so.

Q. Did you not say you would work his ruin?

A. Never, there is not such baseness in my nature. I never made a
declaration of the kind to any person: but I said I would advertise
him for his treatment of me. After my arrival in Bristol about
Christmas last, I applied to Mr. Jacks, who was part owner of the
RECOVERY, for my wages: he only paid me a part of them: I then
complained to him of Captain Kimber’s treatment, but did not disclose
the murder.

Q. Did you not tell a Mr. Riddle that you would ruin Captain Kimber?

A. No: but I said I would commence a suit against him for his severe
treatment of me, and that I would put myself under the protection of
the first king’s ship I met with. This conversation took place before
we sailed from Calabar.

Q. Did you never say any thing to the prisoner’s servant?

A. No.

Q. Did you ever administer any mercury to the girl who died?

A. No: it was improper for her complaint.

Q. Can you pretend to say that the suspension of this girl, was
intended as a punishment?

A. I shall not say that; but it was obvious that it was a punishment.

Q. Might not the Captain have had reason to conclude that this
suspension was necessary?

A. He might have had a motive, but I did not know it: he never
consulted any person in what he used to do; and he has often
interrupted me in the discharge of my duty.

Q. In what part of the ship did the suspension take place?

A. On the awning deck.

Q. And when it happened in so open and conspicuous a situation, as that
it was impossible it must not have been seen by the ship’s company;
why was it not a more general subject of conversation?

A. I suppose it was, but I had not an opportunity of hearing it, except
between Pearson and Cruise.

Q. What was the cause of your having at length disclosed this murder
with which you now charge the prisoner?

A. I was solicited by Mr. Lloyd, a Banker at Birmingham, to give an
account of the firing on the Town of Calabar; and from that relation,
this account followed as a casual circumstance. I told it to Mr.
Wilberforce the day before he made his speech in the House of Commons:
but I never intended to prosecute or appear in evidence against Captain
Kimber.

Q. So then this murder remained a secret until the day before Mr.
Wilberforce made his Speech in the House of Commons?

A. No: I told it to persons in private.

Q. How often had you sailed as a surgeon before this time?

A. That was my first voyage, and it shall be my last.

The witness was re-examined by Mr. Attorney General, in order to
account for some of those circumstances which came out on his cross
examination, and might go to invalidate his testimony.

He said that he and the two boys were on the awning deck when the girl
was suspended; that between this deck and the other part of the ship
there was a barricade about nine feet high, which prevented those
persons in the fore-part from seeing what was done abaft. By this
means many of the ship’s crew, who were on deck, might have remained
without seeing or knowing what was done to the girl. And this might
have been the cause why the circumstance had not been generally spoken
of on board. When I gave in my journal, said the witness, at Grenada, I
wished to omit every mention of the Negro Girl, from the apprehensions
I was under for my safety, not knowing what the prisoner might have
done; I therefore wished to evade the oath which is made on those
occasions, and accordingly when the officer tendered it to me I took
the book from him, and returned it without kissing it: he was sitting
at a desk and did not see me.

The witness requested that the Court would examine the log book, where
they should see that this death, which he omitted in his journal, did
really happen. And the prisoner he said had told him that a journal was
a mere matter of form.

He said also that when Mr. Lloyd and Mr. Wilberforce had examined him
relative to the firing upon the Town of Calabar, the latter gentleman
questioned him as to the treatment of the slaves on board the ships,
and it was upon that occasion he told him the circumstance of the
murder for which the prisoner was now indicted; without having had
the remotest intention of prosecuting him. And he moreover observed
that outrages of that nature were so common on board the slave ships,
that they were looked upon with as much indifference as any trifling
occurrence; their frequency had rendered them familiar.

Stephen Devereux, the next witness on the side of the prosecution, was
examined by Mr. Solicitor General.

He deposed, that he had sailed to the coast of Guinea in the _Wasp_,
from whence after he arrived there, he changed as third mate into the
RECOVERY, which sailed from Africa on the first of September;
he remembered the deceased Negro Girl very well: after he had been ten
days on board, he saw Captain Kimber endeavouring to straiten her knees
which were bent and contracted, and afterwards flogging her with a
whip. While I was standing said the witness, on the starboard side of
the quarter deck, I saw the girl running up by the gun takle, which was
fastened by a block to the mizen stay: she was suspended by one of her
arms, and continued raised above the deck for four or five minutes;
she was let down, and lifted up again by the other arm, and Pearson
the boy who held the takle jerked the fall: In this situation the boys
were endeavouring to make her legs strait. She was taken up the third
time by one leg, and the fourth time by the other; after which she was
suffered to remain on the deck for some time. In this situation with
her head drooping between her knees, Captain Kimber, who was present
during the whole of her torture, lifted her up, gave her a slap on the
face, and said _the bitch is sulky_: and then again endeavoured to
straiten the contraction in the knees, with the intention of inflicting
punishment on her. The fifth and last time she was lifted up by both
hands, but her feet touched the deck; and in this posture the prisoner
flogged her severely. When she was about going down the hatchway he
would not suffer any body to assist her, but said _the bitch is sulky
she must find her own way_. After she had got down two or three steps
with great struggling and difficulty, she slipt along the rest of the
ladder. All this happened in the morning.

I saw her the next day, and helped her up on deck: she was in a very
filthy and shocking condition, quite weak and feeble, her body was
covered with whales and bruises; she was not put down along with the
other women; but was suffered to languish until she died, on the third
day after the suspension.

Q. What other persons belonging to the ship’s company were in sight of
this business, besides the Captain, the Surgeon, and yourself?

A. The man at the wheel, and one or two more.

He was cross-examined by Mr. Sylvester.

Q. Was you not dancing with the women, at the time this business was
going forward?

A. I was looking at the women dancing; but when the girl was suffering
the punishment, they attended more to it, than to any thing else.

Q. Were there any, and what other persons with you at the time?

A. I don’t know.

Q. Could you attempt to say, that it was by way of punishment that the
prisoner endeavoured to straiten the girl’s knees?

A. I know of no other motive he could have.

Q. Why did you not mention this business at Grenada, on your arrival
there?

A. I did not wish to concern myself about it, particularly as Captain
Kimber had behaved to me as a friend. Besides, every seaman on board
must have heard of, or known it: and the Surgeon and I have often
talked of it since.

Q. Did you ever give any information of this affair, till you were sent
for to London?

A. No.

Q. And when you appeared before the Magistrate in London, did you not
say that you were ignorant of the cause of the girl’s death?

A. I did, for the reason I already mentioned, being delicate of doing
any thing that might endanger the prisoner’s life. But I am now
certain, that if she had not been punished in the manner she was, she
would have lived, and been fit for market.

[Here Mr. Sylvester read the deposition of this witness, which was
taken before Sir Sampson Wright, at Bow-street, about two months ago,
when the prisoner at the Bar was brought before him, charged with the
murder for which he was now tried: in this deposition the present
witness Devereux had stated, that he did not believe the girl died in
consequence of the punishment inflicted on her: a contrary testimony to
which he now gave to the Court.]

Q. Did you venture to take any of your ship’s crew along with you, to
give evidence of this business you now swear to?

A. No, they were all taken up at Bristol, and sent away.

Q. Are there not some of them now in London?

A. I do not know.

Q. Were you not dismissed your ship as first mate for mutiny, while on
the Coast of Africa?

A. No: I did not mutiny.

Q. Were you not charged with having mutinied, and tried before six
Captains?

A. The charge against me was, giving the lie to the Captain.

(Here Mr. Sylvester read the charges against him wherein he was stated
to be a pernicious, dangerous, and troublesome fellow, and accordingly
was turned away from the Ship: but there was no specific offence
mentioned.)

On his re-examination by Mr. Solicitor General, he said that he had
mentioned the Murder of the slave to several persons, before he came
to give evidence of the firing upon the town of Calabar: and to a
Gentleman at Bristol, after Kimber had been brought up to town. He did
not know where the rest of the Crew had been.

Captain Kimber he said was one of those who formed the Court, that
tried him on the Coast of Africa; and that he afterwards took him into
his ship and treated him in a friendly manner.

These two were the only witnesses who appeared on the side of the
prosecution.

Mr. Walter Jacks was first called on behalf of the prisoner, and
examined by Mr. Pigott.

He said he was a merchant in Bristol, and had a share in the
RECOVERY, which the prisoner commanded. He knew the prisoner
six years, for three or four of which he had been in his Service: and
he was always satisfied with his conduct: for he was good to the ship’s
company. Mr. Dowling, who had been Surgeon to the ship attended this
witness at Bristol to demand the balance of his wages, which had been
due to him.

At that time he complained that Captain Kimber had engaged to allow
him two privileged Slaves, and that afterwards he would give him but
one. The witness told him it was impossible he could have double
privilege, as one Slave was all that was ever given to the surgeon of
that ship: but in paying him his wages, he gave him sterling money
instead of currency; as a small compensation for the hardships he said
he sustained.

On the tenth of last January, after Dowling had received his wages,
and thanked the witness; he told him that Captain Kimber was a rascal
and a cheat, and that he would ruin him if it was in his power. And
immediately after the prisoner had been taken into custody, these words
occurred to the witness.

Thomas Lawer lived at Birmingham, he had frequent conversations with
Dowling about the slave trade, who said, he had frequent quarrels with
Captain Kimber, in one of which he struck him, and was afterwards put
in irons, turned out of the cabin, and obliged to eat salt provisions
with the fore-mast men.

The Captain allowed him but one privileged slave, and had behaved very
ill towards him, for which he was determined to be revenged. These
words he often used.

Benjamin Riddle was examined by Mr. Morgan.

He said he had been Surgeon on board the _Thomas_, which was on the
coast of Africa, at the same time with the RECOVERY. There he
heard Dowling say, that he had been maltreated by Captain Kimber, and
that he would ruin him if possible: that he had a memorandum in his
possession, which he could produce against him, when he came home. The
witness asked to see the paper, but Dowling would not shew it. This was
a sober deliberate conversation, and Dowling thought he was speaking to
a friend.

After this, the witness heard Captain Kimber say, that Dowling’s
conduct was so bad, he could not keep him: he used to bleed, when
it was evidently dangerous, and commit other improprieties in his
professional line.

The witness also knew Devereux to have been dismissed from the _Wasp_
for mutiny.

Mr. Dowling was again called, and asked whether it was true, that
he had told Mr. Jacks, Lawer, and Riddle, that he would be revenged
of, and ruin Captain Kimber if he could. He persisted in his former
assertion, and declared that he had never said any such thing. He told
the Court, that if they would indulge him with a hearing, he should
clear every matter to their satisfaction; but having proceeded in a
desultory manner, he was prevented from speaking.

Captain Thomas Philips was examined by Mr. Knowles.

He deposed, that he was on the Coast of Africa when the prisoner was
there. Devereux had been turned out of the _Wasp_ for mutiny, and had
acknowledged the charges against him to be true: and the witness knew
him to be a bad man.

There were, he said, on board Captain Kimber’s ship, great quantities
of oranges, which Dowling used to give to the slaves. The witness
told him often, that fruits were bad for them; that they would cause
the flux, which disease, it appeared, the deceased girl was afflicted
with: and he knew, for twenty years he had been in that climate, such
diseases carry off persons in the space of two days.

The witness knew the prisoner since he was at school, and he never
heard any thing injurious to his character, until the present charge
was preferred against him. He was always humane and good natured.

Thomas Lancaster was a mate belonging to the _Wasp_. He said, that
Devereux had admitted the charges made against him: and all the ship’s
company looked on him as a dangerous fellow. After he had been turned
out of the ship, he remained on shore for two months; and if Captain
Kimber had not taken him under his protection, it would be impossible
to tell what should become of him.

Devereux was again called, and questioned, as to the truth of what had
been said against him: and he declared it was as false as that _one_
was _two_.

He was proceeding to make a defence, when the Jury said they were all
satisfied from what had appeared to them; that there was no credit
to be given to the two witnesses on the side of the prosecution, and
therefore found the prisoner

  NOT GUILTY.

It still remains for us to make a few observations on the above
extraordinary trial. Nothing that may now be said can in any manner
affect Captain Kimber; as he has been acquitted, and cannot be tried a
second time for the same offence.

We shall not declare what impressions we lie under as to the guilt or
innocence of Capt. Kimber; but lay before the public a few points, from
which they may draw such conclusions as their feelings and reason
shall dictate.

And first we shall ask, why was there not such a defence set up by
Captain Kimber, as could, in the minds of the people, have acquitted
him of the horrid act which was sworn against him? Did he bring forward
a single witness to contradict the charges of his accusers? What became
of all the seamen and servants on board his ship, who were in England
at the time he was apprehended, and who might have been brought into
Court to declare at once that the prisoner did not commit murder;
without having recourse to the miserable shift of proving perjury
against Mr. Dowling and Devereux, in points that had nothing to do
with the prosecution? Were none of the RECOVERY’S crew to be
found, or was Captain Kimber afraid that they would have all conspired
against his life?

One of the witnesses on the side of the prosecution said, that all the
crew were taken up at Bristol, and sent out of the way. The event has
given us no reason to doubt the truth of this assertion.

As to Mr. Dowling’s not having disclosed the murder when he came on
shore, nor keeping a complete journal, these are circumstances which
those persons who know any thing of ships in general or the African
slave trade, will pay no attention to. Journals, which are considered
mere matters of form, are generally imperfect, and the barbarous
treatment of slaves on board the ships is so frequent, as to be looked
upon with indifference. Perhaps Mr. Dowling, perhaps the whole crew
might have conceived that the killing of a slave on board a ship was an
offence not punishable by law.

As there was no other evidence to support the second indictment, than
what supported the first, the Jury also acquitted the prisoner on it.

The trial lasted near five hours. His Royal Highness the Duke of
Clarence was present the whole time, and appeared from his looks and
gestures, to be particularly interested, in favour of the man who was
accused of having murdered a slave.

_FINIS._