Captain Rogers died at Holyhead January 11, 1825. His and his wife's portraits were preserved by her relatives, and eventually given to the only surviving daughter or her descendants.
In Johns and Nicolas's Calendar of Victory, 1855, is an account of this sea-fight; also in the European Magazine of 1808, with a portrait of the gallant captain. Also in James's Naval History of Great Britain (1820), Vol. IV.
Rogers's own account, condensed, is to be found in a paper by Rev. W. Jago, "The Heroes of the Old Falmouth Packet Service," in the Journal of the Royal Institution of Cornwall, XIII, 1895-8.
JOHN BURTON, OF FALMOUTH
Joseph Burton, of Stockport, Lancashire, came, for what reason is unknown, to Cornwall in 1830, and set up a china and glass shop at Bodmin; and married at Launceston a Miss Clemo.
Old Joseph was a sturdy Radical and Nonconformist. He was a vigorous and loud supporter of the Ballot Society, the Liberation Society, and the United Kingdom Alliance. He was also a vehement and "intemperate" teetotaler. He died at Bodmin 19th July, 1876. John was one of a whole string of children, and as the "cloam" shop did not bring in a large profit, and John was one among many, he had to go into life very inefficiently equipped with education. But he had inherited from his father a masterful spirit, and had his own independent views, and it was soon a case between them of flint and steel, and sparks flew out.
John and his brother Joe were sent round the country hawking pots and glass.
"I well remember the 24th December, 1853," said John Burton. "Myself and brother Joe (who afterwards became a well-known auctioneer) rose at five o'clock in the morning, fed the horse, and made a start at 5.45 a.m. with a wagon-load of goods. The morning was dark, and when we came to Callywith turnpike gate it was closed. We knocked Henry Mark, the toll-keeper, up to let us through. He looked out of the window and at first refused to let us pass until daylight. We firmly told him that we would certainly unhang the gate and pass through without paying the toll. This fetched the old man down, with his long coat, knitted night-cap, with horn lantern in his hand. He opened the gate and told us, 'You Burtons ought to be poisoned for breaking a man's rest.' A lot we cared for his curses. Fairly on the road, we were as happy as sandboys. Having delivered the goods, and fairly on the way home, we stopped at the Jamaica Inn, where the old mail-coaches used to change their horses, to feed our horse, not forgetting ourselves. After giving old Dapper his feed of oats, we went into the inn kitchen, where we ordered a hot meal. The landlady asked, 'What would you like?' She suggested a hot squab pie, which she took out of a huge kitchen range well loaded with burning turf, the odour of which increased our appetite considerably. We polished off the pie and pocketed the crust to eat on the moors when homeward bound."