“In the winter of 1815, making a tour of the Netherlands, I was in Bruges when the well-known statue, or rather group, of the ‘Virgin and Child,’ by Michael Angelo Buonarotti, which had been carried from the church of Notre Dame to Paris, was restored, in a packing-case, to that church. On this occasion a procession of the priests and officers of the church, and of some of the municipal officers, took place; and a Mass was celebrated. About a month afterwards, I was again in Bruges, and saw this fine work of art replaced in its former situation, on the altar of one of the small chapels. It is, indeed, a wonderful work.
“I was about the same period in Antwerp, and was present when the pictures which had been taken to Paris, arrived in carriages, and were escorted into the city by an English regiment, then in garrison there (either the 15th or 25th of infantry), preceded by the band of that regiment playing ‘God save the King,’ and accompanied by the members of the Academy of Antwerp, and the magistracy of the city. I own I felt all the pride of an Englishman at seeing these works of art, which British valour had regained, thus restored to the places from whence they had been pillaged.
“Stephen Porter.[420]
“Temple, Feb. 5, 1828.”
In July, I went to Hungerford Stairs to gain what information I could respecting “Copper Holmes.” A waterman, whose face declared he had seen a few liberal days, accosted me with the usual question, “Oars, sculler?” I shook my head; but, upon a nearer approach, asked him the following question, “How long has Copper been dead?” “There sits his widow at that window mending her stockings,” said he; “we’ll go and put it to her.”
On approaching her the waterman said, “This gentleman wants to know how long Copper has been dead?” “How do you do?” said I, “your husband has often in my early days rowed me to Pepper Alley.” “He died,” said the woman (who retained enough in her care-worn features to induce me to believe she had been pretty), sticking her needle on her cap, “he died, poor fellow, on the 3rd of October, 1821, and a better man never trod shoe-leather. He was downright and honest, and what he said he would do, he did. I had been his wife two-and-twenty years; but he married me after he left the Ark. His first wife lived in the Ark with her children.” “What vessel had the Ark been?” “She had been a Westcountryman, and it cost him altogether (with her fittings-up with sheets of copper) one hundred and fifty pounds, and that gave him the name of ‘Copper Holmes.’ His Christian name was Thomas. Ay, Sir, his lawsuit with the City crippled him:[421] but I will say this for him, his Majesty had not a better subject than poor Copper.” While she uttered this declaration, both her eyes, which were seriously directed to her nose, were moistened with the tears of affectionate memory, which induced me to turn to my new acquaintance the waterman, and ask where he was buried? “In the Waterman’s churchyard, Sir, under the pump-pavement on the south side of St. Martin’s church.[422] Lord bless you! don’t you know the Waterman’s burying-ground? I could take you to the spot where fifty of us have been buried.” “What was his age?” “Sixty-six when he died.”
After parting with the widow, I requested the master of the ceremonies to allow his man to ferry me over to the King’s Head Stairs, Lambeth Marsh. “He shall,” said Charles Price; “and I’ll go with you, too.” The waggish, though youthful countenance of the lad employed to bring in our boat, revived the pleasure Mathews had afforded me in his description of Joe Hatch,[423] and induced me to inquire after the waterman whose look, voice, and manner he had borrowed for that inimitable representation. “George Heath, you mean, Sir,” answered the boy; “Of Strand Lane,” observed Price; “Heath is his real name. Lord bless ye, he’s a good-hearted fellow! Why, I have often known him put his hand in his pocket and relieve a fellow-creature in distress.”
This mention of Hatch induced me to question Price as to the Halfpenny Hatch,[424] where Astley had first rode,[425] before he took the ground at the foot of Westminster Bridge, on which the present Amphitheatre stands. Before Price could answer, as we had made the shore, “You will find the Halfpenny Hatch (for it still remains, though in a very ramshackled state) at the back of St. John’s Church, Waterloo Road, at the end of Neptune Place,” I was told upon my landing by a little chubby, shining, red-faced woman, in what was formerly called a mob-cap. Thither I went, and to my great surprise found the Halfpenny Hatch in a dell, by reason of the earth being raised for the pavement of the adjacent streets.[426] Field was the name of the person who occupied the house; and, only a few years ago, money was received for the accommodation of the public who chose to go through the hatch. It was built subsequent to the year 1771, by Curtis, the famous botanist,[427] whose name it still retains; but the original Hatch-house, Mrs. Field informed me, was still standing at the back of the present one.
The ground belonging to the Halfpenny Hatch was freehold, of about seven acres, and sold by the Curtis family to Messrs. Basing, Atkins, and Field, for the sum of £3500. They disposed of it in about six months afterwards to Mr. Roupell, the present owner, for the sum of £8000.[428] Being determined to take a sketch of the remains of this vine-mantled Halfpenny Hatch, I took water at Strand Lane Stairs[429] on the following evening, where I found George Heath busily engaged in his boat. Upon seeing a poor chimney-sweeper who descended the steps with me, he stood up and cried out, “I tell you what, Sir Cloudesley Shovel, although you are a miller, depend upon it, I’ll dust your jacket for the injury you have done my vessel.” A ferryman observed, “His wife was gone to take a walk up Highgate Hill.” “A strainer,” observed George Heath. During the time occupied in sketching, William Field, who lives in the Hatch, pointed out part of the gate which had received a bullet, supposed to have been aimed by some scoundrel at the elder Mr. Curtis, who providentially escaped, though the ball, which came from a considerable distance, passed only a few inches above his head.