HUNTINGDON J I VRNAL.
WisoLE No. 175.]
TERMS
OF THE
EI7INTTUTODON :OTYRNAL.
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THE .841ST1.LE.
MI JOHN INMAN.
The history of man affords, probably,
be more terrible and hideous exemplifica
tion of wanton . cruelty—of the savage fe
rocitT of unchecked power—and of Ito
man insensibility to the rights and suffer
ings of humanity, than is presented even
in the imperfect records of the Bastile.
The oppression of which it was the in
strument and the scene, has never been
told in all its horrors, and probably never
will be; for in the destruction of the edi
fice, there is no doubt that many writings
perished, in which were preserved the
names and partial histories of hundreds
who, in the course of four centuries, were
immured within its gloomy cells; and of
those hundreds, but three or four have
given to the world a narrative of what
they suffered in their confinement. In
some instances, a mystery as impenetra
ble as that of the grave, has continued
even to this day, to envelope the history
of the Bastile prisoners, as, for instance,
in the case of the celebrated "Man in the
Iron Mask," whose very name is still un
discovered, although many able writers
have employed years in speculations and
inquiries en the subject, in others, prison •
ors are known to have died in the Bastile,
whose existence had been forgotten by the
men who plaeed them there, and of the
cause of whose imprisonment, resting.
perhaps, in the mere caprice of some min
aster or court favorite, no hint has ever
been discovered, Such was the case of
Dussault, who was incarcerated by an or
der from the ambitious and sanguinary
Richelieu, and who remained in the &s
-tile fifty years after that minister haul
gone to his account- Richelieu died in
1642, at which time Dassault had been
eleven years a prisoner. The only know
ledge of his offence that has conic down
to modern times, is in a letter that was
found among the papers of the cardinal,
after his death. It was written by Das
sault, and is a moviug appeal for mercy,
made in vain. In this letter he says—
" You are aware, my lord, that for eleven
years you have subjected me to suffering, I
and to enduring a thousand deaths in the
Bastile, where the most loyal subjects of
the King would still be worthy of com
passion.
How much more, then, ought to
be shown to me, whom you have doomed
to rot there for aving disobeyed your ors
der, which, had I performed it, would
have condemned my soul to eternal tor
ment. and made me pass into eternity with
blood stained hands." Foe Otis unknown
act of disobedience to an injunction with
which compliance would have been a
crime, Dussault languished in the !inetile I
sixty-one years; and foe the last fift y years
of his incarceration, it is probable that no
better reason was known to his oppres
sors, than the simple fact that he had been
there eleven years already. The cause
of his punishment had gone to the grove
with Richelieu and the successors of that
minister appear to have thought that, as
they did not know why he was imprisoned
so they did not know why he should be
set at liberty.
But the story of Latude Masers exhib
its, in its broadest and most revolting
light, the atrocity of the political system
under which this Bastile flourished. He
is one of the few who have revealed the
secrets of that prison house; and his nar
rative. although long since out of print,
and forgotten in the multitude of more re
cent wonders, is one of the moat painful
ly interresting that were ever put on rec
ord.
Latude Masers was the son of a noble
man; and was educated for the army; but
the peace of Aix.la-Chapelle defeated his
expectations of employment, and being
in somewhat strained circumstances, he
went to Paris at the age of twenty-five,
in the hope of obtaining some place al
court. By a silly device, the object 01
which was merely to gain the favor o!
the notorious Marchioness de Pompadour,
he unfoiknately gave offence to that roy
al harlot. and by a Woe de cache which
the obtained from Louis the Fifteenth he,
was thrown into the Bastile, and after
wards into other prisons, whence he was
not released until he was sixty years of
sae.
I It was on the first of May, 1749, that
Ihe was conveyed to the Has'ile, confoun
ded, indeed, at his arrest, but entertain
ing strong hopes that his confinement
would be brief, as his oflence was venial
—hopes in which he was confirmed by
the degree of attention paid to his com
fort, and by the assurances of Monsieur
Berryer, the lieutenant of polieC, who
promised to intercede for him with the
Marchioness, and made consoling predic
tions that her inter o ould quickly be ap
pepsed. Fe did not know the cruel and
revengeful nature of the woman with
whom he I ad to deal.
After four months confinement in the
&stile, Masers was transferred to the
Icastle of Vincennes, whence, at the end
of nine months, lie contrived to toakk '
his escape, by a bold and ingenious Oho.
H is first moments of liberty were employ
ed in reflection upon his furore course,
the result or which was a romantic but
unfortunate determination to throw him.
self upon the generosity of his perseco
trig. the addressed a letter to the king
in which he confessed contrition for
ollenee, implored the clemency of her to
whom it had been given, and concluded
by naming the place of his concealment
Ills answer was an immediate arrest and
reconveyance to the Hostile, with orders
to cast hint into the lowest and most un
wholesome dungeon, and subject him to
the harshest treatment.
For two years these orders were obeyed
to the letter; but at the end of that time
his friend the lieutenant came again to his
relief, and removed him to a better apart
ment. He did more; availing himseif at
his entree at the court, he 'nude frequent
and earliest apt , eals to the ma rchioness
in behail of the poor captive, butt only
with the calamitious eff. et of irritating
her ferocious temper, and causing her to
make a vow that her vengeance should be
eternal.
From this time Masers again revolved
in his mind rejects of escape, in which
after nearly three years of patient. inge
niuu,, u m( unremitting labor, and at the
infinite peril of his life, he again succeed
ed, having no other implements than two
iron hooks, which he wrenched from a
folding table, a knife made from the steel
of a tinder boa, ropes constructed of
thread drawn from his linen shirts, of
which he had, fortunately, a very large
supply, and the small billets of wood with
which he was supplied for fuel. With
these poor aids he removed the iron gra.
',lugs of the chimney, although firmly im
! bedded in the solid wall, conctructed rope
ladders, one of which was a hundred and
r l eighty feet long, and which altogether re
quired fourteen hundred feet of rope, de
scended front the top of the chimney to
the ground, a height of more than one
hundred and fifty feet, swain the ditch,
and finally broke through a wall four feet
and a halt' in thickness, and at last had
the felicity of finding himsef once more
at liberty, and beyond the walls of the ha
ted prison in which he had so long lan
guished.
. _ _
By the assistance of a friend he succee
ded in reaching the Netherlands; but even
in that country he was not safe from the
vengeance of the cruel woman who wiel•
ded the power of France, through the li
centious attachment of a king. He was
actually seized in Amsterdam, with the
consent of the states General, to whom
he was represented by the French ambas
sador as a desperate and atrocious male.
facto•; and it. is pretty well ascertained
that bribery an a large scale was employ
ed, in addition to calumny, to secure the
victim of the unrelenting Pampadour.
The tenacity of puspose with which she
pursued the unfortunate ;.lasers, is stri
kingly exhibited in the fact that no less a
stun than one hundred and eighty thou
sand francs was expended in his recap
ture.
The return of the prisoner to Paris was
signalized by the most iugenious and tor
menting ill usage; and on the sixteenth of
June, 1755, he was again thrown into his
old dung,on, where lie remained for three
years and a half. His bed was straw, turd
covering it hail none. The only light ad
mitted to !is cell was through a loop hole
five inches in diameter, and h^ hail nei
ther chair nor table. llere he was driven
by the horrors of his solitude, to cultivate
the friendship of the rats, by which his
dungeon was Infested, and with which he
succeeded in establishing a degree of inti
macy, so that they would come to his cell,
and even learned to recognize the names
by which he distinguished them. He con-'
irived also, even with his fettered hands,
to make a flageolet of a piece of elder,
that he found among his straw—a perfor
mance that cost him the labor of many
months, his only tool being: the buckle at
his waistband.
At length a rertanate overflowing efj
"ONE COUNTRY, ONE CONSTITUTION, ONE DESTINY."
A. W. BENEDICT PUBLISHER AND PROPRIETOR
HUNTINGDON, PENNSYLVANIA, WEDNESDAY FEBRUARY 20, 1839.
the Seine, occasioned his removal to a
room in one of the towers—not, however,
through any consideration for him, but in
consequence of the remonstrances of his
jailer, who complained that he was oblig
ed to wade through the water when he
conveyed food to his prisoners. Although
one of the worst apartments in the Bas
tile, the new abode of Masers was a pal
ace to the dungeon he had left—yet he
coald not help regretting his separation
from the frientily rats, by which his weary
Hours had been beguiled. As a substi
tote he succeeded in catching a pair of
pigeons that sometimes perched on his
window; but just as he had bffected a good
understanding
o. between . himself and his
captives, his brutal turnkey insisted on
killing them.
In April, 1764, the Marehomess of
Pompadour died, but her death brought no
mitigation to the sulferings of the unfor
tunate Masers. Her heirs hail influence
enough to continue his imprisonment, in
stigated by fear that if he should be re•
leased he would bring his action against
hem and recover damages for his wrongs.
They found a willing instrument in Mon
sieur de Sartme, who was now the lieu
tenant of police, and the imprisonment of
Masers continued as rigorous as ever.
In August, 1764, he •vas again convey
ed to Vincennes: and thence he again con
trived to escape fifmen months afterwards.
Within little more than two months he
was again arrested, reconveyed to Vin
cennes, and there placed in a horriule
dtingeen, only six feet square, into which
no ray of light entered, or breath of fresh
air, save when the door was opened. He
have no room for an account of the cru
elties here practised upon him, and of
his ingenious devices to mitigate their se
verity, the detail of which would fill a
column. It was not until alter the lapse
of eleven years that he was released, and
even then 'he was conveyed to a lunatic
asylum, his enemies having imposed on
the benevolent Malesherbes, who was
now minister, a false tale of his insanity.
Here he remained two years, and was
Men released, on condition that he should
immediately leave Paris and take up his
abode at Mimtagnac, his native place.
Unfortunately his compliance with this
condition was not so prompt as it shout('
have been. Ile lingered in Paris to pre
sent a memorial to tie king. soliciting
some compensation for his sufferings, and
the consequence was that he was again ar
rested, and confined to the Bicetre, the
vilest of ali the criminal prisons in Paris,
where he remained nearly four years, suf—
fering dreadfully front disease, vermin
and filth, and reduced to such a state that
he courted death as a release from tor
merit.
At length the time of his emancipation
arrived—and it was to the generous zeal
and perseverance of a noble hearted wo
man that he owed it. A memorial which
Masers had written, at the suggestion of
one of the judges who had become inter
ested in his story, was dropped in the
street by a careless messenger to whom it
had been entrusted, and was picked up
by a young female, Madame Legros, the
wife of a teacher, and herself carrying on
business in a small way as a mercer. The
envelope was torn by lying in the wet,
and Madame Legros read the paper, in
which the sufferings of Masers were
briefly set forth. Her feelings were strong
ly excited by the narrative, and from
that moment she devoted herself, with an
enthusiasm of benevolence that wears
the character of sublimity, to the task of
rescuing the unhappy prisoner from his
dungeon. For three years she persisted,
in the face of discouragement such as
might well overcoms:even a resolute spir
it. She had to entru - re privations, losses,
and atrocious calumnies—lves reduced to
sell her ornaments and part of her furni
ture, and to subsist on hard and scanty
fare; yet she never paused for a moment
from the pursuit of her object, nor was
ever heard to utter a regret that she had
engaged init. tfrithout relations, friends
fortune of assistance, she undertook eve
ry thing, and shrank from no danger or
fttigue. She forced her way to the le
vees of ministers, who alternately exci
ted and extinguished her hopes—received
her kindly and drove her away with
rudeness —yet she never faltered, and at
each repulse renewed her efforts with ad
ditional vigor, ft hen within two months'
of her confinement, she went front Paris
to Versailles on foot, in the depth or win
ter—returned exhausted with fatigne, and
worn out with disappointment—worked 1
more than half the night to gain the
means of subsistence for the following
slay, and then repaired again to Versailles
with a fortitude that no toil could weaken
and no denial overcome,
At length her noble efforts were rewar
ded with success. After thirty five years
of imprisonment, Latude Masers, at the
age of sixty, broken in health and spirits,
was sat at liberty, and compensated for
his sufferings by a pension of eighty dol
lars per annual: Nine years afterwards,
;1793, he recovered heavy damages from
the heirs of Madame de Pompadour, and
notwithstanding the severe trials his
frame had undergone, lived until 1805,
attaining the age of eightv years, the best
of which were waited in the Bastile and
other prisons, to appease the angry spirit
of a profligate and vindictive woman.
It is pleasing to know that the heroism
of Madame Legros was not altogether
unrewarded. Subscriptions were raised
of sufficient amount to purchase annuities
for her life, amounting to some fifteen
hundred francs per annum, and the Mon
tyoti gold medal, annually given at the
prize of virtue, was unanimously awar
ded to her by the French Academy. Bat
her richest reward was in her own bosom,
and in the admiration and respect of her
contemporaries throughout the civilized
world, seherever the story of Masers be
came known.
.1 COUPLE OF STR.IP
LEJIVES.
LEAF TIER FIRST-...51X MONTHS AFTER
MARAIAGZ.
Well my dear will you go to the party
to-night? you know we have a very polite
invitation,
Why my love, just as you please, you
know I always wish to consult your pleas
ure.
Well then Harriet suppose we go, that
is if you arc perfectly willing; now dont
say yes because I do, for you know that
where you arc there I am perfectly hap
py-
Why my `love you would enjoy your
self there I am sure, and whenever pm
arc happy I shall be of course. NI hat
tires% shag I wear William?—my white
satin with blond or my ashes of roses
or my laventine or my white lace you
always know better than I about such
things.
Harriet dearest you look beautiful in
any thing now take your choice tonight—
but I think you look very well in the
white satin.
There William dear; I knew you would
think just as I did—oh! how happy we
shall be there to night, and you must
promise not to leave me for a moment lnr
I shall be so sad if you do.
"Leave thee dearest, leave thee,
No, by yonder star 1 swear."
Oh 11 it ham dearest how beau
tiful that is, you are always learning po
etry to make me happy.
And Harriet, my own prized Harriet
would I not do anything in the world to
give you one moment's happiness? Oh
now you are so very, dear to me, it seems
at times almost to much happiness to
last.
Oh do not say so dear 1 ilham, it wilt
last—and we shall see many years eveu
happier than this, for will not our love be
stronger and deeper every year, and now
dearest, I will be back in one moment,
and then we will go.
There she is gone, bright and beautiful
creature she is—Oh! how miserable I
should be without her—she has indeed
cast a strong spell around my heart
and one that never, no never can be bro
ken; she is the only star of my existence
guiding on to virtue and happiness, and
I can I ever love her less than now? —can
I ever desert her? can I speak of her in
less than terms of praise? Oh no, it is
impossible—she is too good, too pure—
happy, happy man that t am.
LEAF THE 9ECOND--SIX YEARS AFTER
MARRIAGE.
My dear, I would thank you to pass
the sugar, you didn't give me but one
lump.
sell Mr. Snooks, I declare you use
sugar enough in your tea to sweeten a
hogshead of vinegar. James keep your
lingers out of the sweet meats; Susan
keeps still bawling; I declare it is enough
to set one destracted; there, take that
you little wretch.
Why Harriet, what has the child done?
I declare you are too hasty.
I wish Mr. Snooks, you'd mind your
own business, you're always meddling
with what don't concern you.
tt ell Mrs. Snooks, I want to know
who has a better right it I have not--you
are always fretting and fuming aLout
nothing.
Pa. Thomas is tearing your newspapers
all up.
Thomas, come here—how dare you a
buse my papers; I'll teach you to tear it
again; there sir, how does that feel; now
go to bed:
Mr. Snooks; you horrid wretch; how
can yon 'Wke a child of mine in that way
—Come here Thomas, poor fellow—did
he get /hurt—never mind; here's a luiep
of sugar; there that's a good buy.
Mrs. Snooks, let me tell you, will spoil
the children; you know 1 never interfl
red when you see fit to punish a child,
its strange a woman can never do any
thing right.
Never ido any thing right? faith Mr.
Snooks, if no body did any thing right in
this huuse' t but yourself, I wonder what
would become of ua.
Let me tell you ma'am, and Pit bear it
no lenge:. You are as snappish and sur
ly as—a—she dog—and if there is a di•
vorce to be had in .the land have it
you would wear out the patience of a Job.
O dear. how toad the poor man is, welt
good night toy dear--pleasant dreams.
There she's gone. Thank heaven I'm
alone once mole. Oh! unhappy man that
1 ant to be chained down to such a crea
ture; site ,is the escence of all ugliness, a
cross and peevish; 0 that I could once
more be a bachelor; curse the day and
Dour that I saw the likeness of her. Yes
1 will get a divorce; I can't live with her
any longer, It is utterly impossible.
HINTS ON FAMILY GOVERNMENT.
Family government should be strictly
impartial.
Nothing can be more destructive of do.
mestic harmony than paternal favoritism.
So long as children of the Saint' family dit •
fer especially in their characters & trispo
: sitions, rand this is often the case] so tong
as some are g•entle, affectionate and obe
dient, anti others stubborn and maid!, it
is impossible for any parent to regard
them alike, and if he could, it would only
show his own want of moral discrimina
tion. He must approve and disapprove
reward and punish, with a strict regard
to personal character. This ts the great
principle on which every good govern•
went is administered. So far as paren
tal love consists in complacency a father
may certainly love a dutiful better than
an undutiful child. Indeen he cannot
help it, and there is 00 partaility in this.
But if he indulges one child more than a
wither, if he punnishes this and lets that
gu free; if he is blind to the faults of one
and severe to mark those of another; he is
partial, and can never in this way govern
his family well. His children will see
and feel the wrong. If those who have
reason to complain obey him, it will he
from fear and not from affection; and he
will be so far from securing the reverence
and gratitude of his favorites . that they
will tie the first to despise his authority
and "bring down his grey hairs with sor
row to the
. grave." If a perverse child
will complain, because his privilelee re
abridged, and lie is mad, to eat the bitter
fruits of hts own ways, there is no help for
it. lltt might restore himself to the stan
ding and affections which he has for
feited, if he would, and he has no more
right to say, when he is punished and
others are re carded, that injustice is done
him, than the thief has to complain, that '
he is imprisoned while his honest neigh
bors are unmolested. But while this is
true on the one hand, let every parent
guard as much as possible against all ap
pearance of partiality or the other; and
the moment the prodigal actors, and says,
"father I have sinner'," let him be receiv
ed with open arms, however far he may
have wandered, and whatever grief he may
have occasioned.
Discieux When Kleber was in
Egypt, he sustained, during five hours,
with only two thousand men, the united
efforts of twenty thousand. He was near
ly surrounded, was hounded and had only
a narrow defile by which to escape. In
this extremity he called to him a chief de
battailion, named Chevardin, for whom he
had particular regard. 'Take,' said he
to him 'a company of granathers, anti slop
the enemy at tile ravine; you will he kill
ed, but you will save your comrades.'
'Yes, general,' replied Chevardin. he
gave his watch and pocket book to his
servant. exccuted the order, and his death
in fact, arrested the enemy and saved the
French.
A NICE Disrizscnox.—Some English
ladies bathing at Cape of Good Lope set
one of the party to watch, in order to guard
against intrusion. The sentinel gave the
alarm of masculine footsteps, one of the
fair bathers raised her head, but calmed
the apprehensions of her companions, by
exclaiming "It is only a Dutchman,"
A young Amarose at a political festival
offered the following toast; "The Ladies--
We admire them because of their beauty;
respect them because of their virtue; adore
them because of their intelligence; and
love them because we can't help it.
[ Vox- IV, No, 19 .
Outrage, Piracy and Murder
on the Coast of Sumatra.
A SHOCKING NARRATIVE.
The following details of this dreadful
scene are from the Salem Register.
The eclipse arrived at Tra Bangun
from another part of the coast, on the tied
of August; snd on the 24th preparation'
were made and every thing arranged for
weighing pepper winch was commenced
on and carried through the following day.
The chief mate and four men were enga
ged on shore in neighing, and whi!a there,
resided at the fort of the Rajah Tea Ban
gun. On the 26th the weighing was con
tinued, and about sun down of that day,
upwards of eleven Malays went en boaid
the ship, having wlth them several bags of
pepper. Two of these men, Oosoo (the
head man and brother of Sumat, whom
Captain ilkins had hired as his assis
tant, according to the custom on that
coast) and another went into the cabin to
converse twilit the Captain on business,
where they supped with him. At about
eight o'clock they commenced weighing
two bags at a draft, the Malays began the
attack by stabbing the second mate and
the boy Bak:age. The latter fell, but the
mate, net being severely wounded, ran to
se:7e something to defend himself with
and in going aft he saw Oosoo stab the
Captain.
The Malays in the meantime bad sei
zed the muskets in the retied house, with
all the weapons within reach, and the
crew, being overpowered, were obliged to
save themselver.; as they best could. some
of them jumping overboard and others
retreating up the rights. The pirates
then commenced the plunder of the ves
sel; the cook, Oiliiatn Reynolds, talking
with and apparently assisting them. They
left the ship hetween ten and twelve
o'clock; taking with them e 16,000 or
$527,000 in specie, two chests of opium,
to trunks of the Captain's best wearing
apparel, two gold watches, a fowling piece
and case, two spy-glasses, the ship's col
ors, all the canvass and cotton cloth that
could be found, several muskets, some
ammunition, the captain's writing desk
containing the chief part of his papers
and accounts, with several other articles.
After the pirates had left the ship, those
of the crew whc hail remained in the ves..
sel went on deck, and discovered that the
cook had gone with them, and as was be
lieved of his own accord. He had fre
quently been heard to say that he meant
to go and live with the Malays, and for
several days previous had often been seen
in close conversation with Sumat, and
they were apparently good friends. Be
fore this lie had been put in irons fur ma
king a disturbance on board and refusing
duty, and had that day implored the cap
tain on his knees to release him, which he
promised to do as soon as the mate re..
turned.
The remainder of the crew then low
ered the boat and rowed to a French
barque, lying about nine miles oft; to pre
, cure assistance, as they feared another at
tack might he made on the ship by proas
which were hovering near; and there, be
ing unable to obtain immediate aid on ac
count of sickness on beard, they got their
wounds dressed and remained until mor
ning.
The chief mate, Mr. Whitmarsh, ¶was
first informed of the massacre on the
morning of the 7th, by three of the crew
who had jumped overboard during the at.
I tack and swam ashore, a distance of about
two miles, through the surf. lie imme
diately applied to the Rajah for assistance,
I who named and armed five of the boats.
and himself, with some of his pi incipal
men, accompanied the crew to the ship
for the purpose of retaking her if neces.
sarv. They, however, found no living
soul on board, but discovered the mate of
Captain Wilkins on the half deck, and
Babbage on the break of the half deck
forward—every thing being in the utmost
disorder. Three ut those who had been
oa board the French barque returned
about the same time.
After clearing the decks and getting
the vessel in tolerable order, they slipped
the cable and put to sea, and arrived at
Altickie on the second of September,
where they received all necessary assis
tance from Captains Peabody and Silver,
of the ship Burnco and brig Lucille. both
of this port. On Monday, the 27th of
August, the body of Babhage was commit
ted to the deep, and on the following day.
Tuesday, that of Captain 'Wilkins. A
request was forwarded from the Rajah
that the body of the captain might be lan
ded and berried at Tra Bangun,l3ut it was
deemed unsafe to comply, lest the ship
should be again attacked and overpower
ed by the natives.
COCKNEY Comm:mutt—Has the fol
lowing Con. been jin print? Why is a
puppy dog like a lona—Beams it bier
and vowel