Hanway reached Lanjaron on the 5th of April, where, being exceedingly fatigued both in body and mind, he remained with Captain Elton until the 1st of May. He then set forward with six well-armed companions for Astrabad. Their way, during the first part of their journey, lay through a forest, where they lost their path and were benighted on the very evening of their departure; but at length, guided by a light which they discovered among the trees, they found their way to a house which was barricaded with trees. The owner of this lonely mansion, with an inhospitable terror which was fully justified by the circumstances of the times, refused them admittance; upon which, like true Persians, they broke into his house, and, binding a rope about one of his arms, compelled him to serve them for a guide until they had regained their path, when our traveller took care to reward him for his trouble. Shortly after this two of his muleteers deserted; and in the evening, while their beasts were at pasture, a wolf of very extraordinary size, of which there were great numbers in the mountains of Mazenderan, made his appearance, but was driven off by the guard, though not before he had killed a cow. Pallas observes that the wolf is exceedingly timid in summer; but an instance of its courage during the warm months, not unlike the above, occurred to that traveller in Siberia; and the wolves of Burgundy and the Vosges have the reputation, I believe, of being sufficiently ferocious throughout the year. Next morning they overtook a small detachment of soldiers, whose commanding officer, observing that they were pursuing the same route, politely offered his service as a convoy; which being readily accepted, they pursued their journey together.
In this way they proceeded for some time; but the officer being at length compelled to take a different direction, granted Hanway at parting a guard of ten men, who, however, very soon deserted him. Nevertheless he succeeded, after much fatigue and difficulty, in reaching Astrabad, whence the rebels had recently been dislodged. The fate of the insurgent chief excited his compassion. Upon the news of the defeat of his party he had been seized by the demoniacal slaves who now gained the ascendant, who, having cut holes in his flesh, in which they set lighted candles, thus paraded him naked through the market-place, until he dropped down dead through loss of blood. Our traveller, immediately upon his arrival, presented to Behbud Khan, the new governor, the decree which he had obtained of the shah, and received a promise that it should be fulfilled to the letter. This man appeared to have been designed by nature for executing the designs of such a master as Nadir. Seated in his tent, half-surrounded by soldiers, “judging and executing in a very summary way the rebels who were brought before him, one or two at a time. After a short repast, a prisoner was brought who had two large logs of wood riveted to the small of his legs, and a heavy triangular collar of wood about his neck; one of the angles being longer than the others served as a handcuff to his left wrist, so that if he attempted to rest his arm it must press on his neck. After being questioned for sometime about the caravan of European cloths, of which it appeared he knew very little, the general ordered him to be beaten with sticks, which was immediately performed by the executioners with the utmost severity, as if it was intended to kill him; and the scene was closed with an order to cut out his eyes. Sadoc Aga was then produced. In the hour of his short-lived prosperity, while he was a general of the rebel troops, he had treated Hanway with an unbecoming insolence. But how changed was his appearance! When Mr. Hanway saw him last he was a youth of uncommon vivacity, richly dressed, and full of mirth; but now his garb was mean, his voice sunk, and his eyes cut out of their sockets. He expressed his inability to make any restitution of the property, ‘for he had been deprived of every thing.’ This answer the general returned by an order to strike him on the mouth, which was done with such violence that the blood gushed out.”
This scene was very ill calculated to entertain such a man as Hanway, and might, perhaps, have touched even the breast of Shylock with compassion. He therefore retired in silence, leaving the bloody-minded representative of the shah to glut his ferocious appetite for slaughter at his leisure. Meanwhile, the payment for the lost merchandise being made very slowly, Hanway once more appealed to the justice of the governor, who now confessed that a part of the money had been appropriated to the shah’s own use, and, in default of other means, offered in part of payment a number of female prisoners, who might, he said, be sold for slaves. This Hanway refused; and having obtained the greater portion of his demand, he repaired to the seashore, and once more embarked on the Caspian. Proceeding along the southern shore, he disembarked at Lanjaron, and continued his journey by land to Reshed, where, immediately after his arrival, he was attacked by a dangerous disorder, which detained him in that city during nearly two months; after which he invested his money in raw silk, and, setting sail on the 13th of September, arrived safely at Yerkie on the mouth of the Volga. Here, as the Russian authorities feigned to believe that the plague was raging in Northern Persia, he was compelled to perform quarantine during six weeks; at the expiration of which he proceeded by land along the western bank of the Volga to Zarytzin, and thence to Moscow, where he arrived on the 22d of December. Here he received letters from England, informing him that by the death of a relation he had succeeded to a sum of money far exceeding any advantages he could expect to derive from the conducting of the Caspian trade. “Providence was thus indulgent to me,” says he, “as if it meant to reward me for the sincerity of my endeavours.”
Hanway reached Petersburg on the 1st of January, 1745. Here he remained nearly five years engaged in commerce; but at length, the love of gain yielding to the love of home, he quitted the Russian capital; visited the dry dock constructed by Peter I. at Cronstadt; and, passing rapidly through Prussia, Germany, and Holland, embarked in a yacht at Helvoetsluys, and landed at Harwich, after an absence of nearly eight years.
On the arrival of our traveller in London, he went to reside in the Strand, at the house of his sister, Mrs. Townsend. Here, having now entirely abandoned all mercantile pursuits, he lived as a private gentleman, employed in compiling the history of his travels, and in constant acts of benevolence. The application to sedentary employment, which was so little in unison with the former tenor of his life, and which the exercise of his charity was not sufficient to diversify, very quickly injured his health; so that he was compelled for relaxation to travel once more, though his excursion was confined to France and the Netherlands. About this period the question respecting the expediency of naturalizing the Jews was agitated in most of the countries of Europe; and Hanway, on most other occasions just and philanthropic, yielded in this instance to the force of narrow and inhuman prejudices; and argued in a pamphlet, now very properly condemned to oblivion, in favour of the absurd laws by which this portion of our fellow-creatures have been in so many countries excluded from the enjoyment of the rights of man. His other works were devoted to better purposes; he promoted, as far as was in his power, the paving of the streets of London; he laboured to convince the English people of the futility of the fears they seemed to entertain of a French invasion, than which nothing could be more absurd or impracticable; he founded the Marine Society, intended to encourage the breed of seamen; he endeavoured benevolently, but ridiculously, to discourage the habit of tea-drinking; he laboured to improve the Foundling Hospital institution; was the principal means of founding the Magdalen Hospital, or asylum for repentant public women; advocated the cause of the orphan poor; and, by reasoning and ridicule, exposed the practice of vails giving, as it was termed, by which a man who was invited to the table of the great was made to pay threefold for his dinner. According to Mr. Pugh, he was incited to the exposure of this abuse by Sir Timothy Waldo. “Sir Timothy,” says he, “had dined with the duke (of Newcastle), and, on his leaving the house, was contributing to the support and insolence of a train of servants who lined the hall, and at last put a crown into the hands of the cook, who returned it, saying, ‘Sir, I do not take silver.’—‘Don’t you, indeed?’ said the worthy knight, putting it in his pocket, ‘then I do not give gold.’” Among the ludicrous circumstances mentioned in Mr. Hanway’s letter is one which happened to himself. He was paying the servants of a respectable friend for a dinner which their master had invited him to, one by one, as they appeared. “Sir, your great-coat;” a shilling; “Your hat;” a shilling; “Stick;” a shilling; “Umbrella;” a shilling; “Sir, your gloves.”—“Why, friend, you may keep the gloves: they are not worth a shilling.”
In 1762 he was appointed one of the commissioners for victualling the navy; upon which, finding that an increase of expenditure was authorized by the augmentation of his income, he took a house in Red Lion Square, the principal rooms of which, says his biographer, he furnished and decorated with paintings and emblematical devices in a style peculiar to himself. “I found,” said he, “that my countrymen and women were not au fait in the art of conversation; I have therefore presented them with objects the most attractive that I could imagine, and such as cannot easily be imagined without exciting amusing and instructive discourse; and when that fails there are the cards.” Prince Eugene, who, I suppose, found his companions in much the same predicament, was used to have music during dinner, and, upon being questioned respecting his reasons, replied, “It saves you the trouble of talking.”
Among numerous other benevolent schemes of our worthy traveller was one which had for its object the bettering the condition of young chimney-sweepers, who, besides the distresses which are open to general observation, such as the contortion of their limbs and the stunting of their growth, are liable to a disease peculiar to their occupation, known by the name of the “chimney-sweepers’ cancer.” The extent of the benefit conferred on these wretched beings—the very Pariahs of English society—by the exertions of Hanway cannot be exactly estimated; but they certainly were considerable, and serve to show that genuine benevolence can condescend to commiserate the miserable in whatever position they may be placed. During his labours in behalf of these little “fathers of soot,” as an Arab would term them, he addressed a little urchin who had just been sweeping his own chimney:—“Suppose, now, I give you a shilling?”—“God Almighty bless your honour, and thank you!”—“And what if I give you a fine tie-wig to wear on May-day, which is just at hand?”—“Ah! bless your honour; my master won’t let me go out on May-day.”—“No! why not?”—“He says it’s low life!” The idea of a young chimney-sweeper, black as if just issued from Pandemonium, in “a fine tie-wig,” could never have suggested itself to any but a man of original genius.
Pugh, the honest and intelligent author of Hanway’s life, tells us an anecdote connected with our traveller’s history, which I will relate in his words:—“To one of his books written for the use of the poor he prefixed a description of the frontispiece, in which he says to the gentle reader, ‘Here you see the grass grow and the sheep feed.’ The reviewers fastened on this unfortunate sentence. ‘We remember,’ said they (I quote from memory after a lapse of several years), ‘a miller, who quitted his trade to take a public-house, and sent for a painter to paint him the sign of the mill. “I must have the miller looking out of the window.”—“It shall be done,” said the painter. “But I was never seen to be idle; you must make him pop his head in if any one looks at him.” This also the artist promised, and brought home the sign. “’Tis all well; but where’s the miller?”—“Sir, he popped his head in when you looked.” Even so,’ said the reviewers, ‘when we look on the benevolent author’s frontispiece, the grass ceases to grow, and the sheep leave off feeding.’”
Hanway died on the 5th of September, 1786. His last moments were those of a Christian and a philosopher, calm and tranquil, indicating the firmest reliance on the mercy and goodness of God, and a consciousness of a life honestly and usefully spent. It might not be difficult to collect from the history of his life materials for forming a correct notion of his character; but in addition to the information to be derived from this source, Pugh enjoyed the advantage of having lived with him in the same house on terms of considerable familiarity. For this reason, I prefer the adopting of the character which he has drawn, and which appears to be sufficiently impartial, to the maintaining of an appearance of originality, by conveying the same idea in different words:—“Mr. Hanway in his person was of the middle size, of a thin spare habit, but well shaped; his limbs were fashioned with the nicest symmetry. In the latter years of his life he stooped very much, and, when he walked, found it conduce to his ease to let his head incline towards one side; but when he went first to Russia, at the age of thirty, his face was full and comely, and his person altogether such as obtained for him the appellation of the ‘handsome Englishman.’ His features were small, but without the insignificance which commonly attends small features. His countenance was interesting, sensible, and calculated to inspire reverence. His blue eyes had never been brilliant, but they expressed the utmost humanity and benevolence; and when he spoke, the animation of his countenance and the tone of his voice were such as seemed to carry conviction with them even to the mind of a stranger. When he endeavoured to sooth distress, or point out to any wretch who had strayed the comforts of a virtuous life, he was peculiarly impressive; and every thing that he said had an air of consideration and sincerity. In his transactions with the world he was always open, candid, and sincere; whatever he said might be depended on with implicit confidence. He adhered to the strict truth, even in the manner of his relation, and no brilliancy of thought could induce him to vary from the fact. But although so frank in his own proceedings, he had seen too much of life to be easily deceived by others; and he did not often place a confidence that was betrayed. He did not, however, think the world so degenerate as is commonly imagined; ‘and if I did,’ he used to say, ‘I would not let it appear; for nothing can tend so effectually to make a man wicked, or to keep him so, as a marked suspicion.’ He knew well how much the happiness of mankind is dependent on honest industry, and received a pleasure but faintly described in words when any of the objects of his charity, cleanly apparelled, and with cheerful and contented countenances, came to pay their respects to him. He treated them as his acquaintance, entered into their concerns with a paternal affection, and let them know that on any real emergency they might apply with confidence to him. It was this rather than the largeness of his gifts that endeared him so much to the common people. He never walked out but he was followed by the good wishes, silent or expressed, of some to whom he had afforded relief. To meet the eye of the person he had served was to him the highest luxury; and no man enjoyed it oftener. His own misfortunes, I believe, never caused him to shed tears; and if the miseries of others had that effect, which was very rare indeed, he was particularly careful to conceal it. Yet the sight of a regiment of soldiers under exercise, of the charity-children in their annual assembly at Saint Paul’s, the Marine Society’s boys marching to join their ships, or in procession, were objects which he could not resist.”