Victorian Books, Her Majesty's Tower Volume 4

On Friday, April 21, 1665 (the day after James had sailed, with Admiral Sir William Penn on board his ship, against the Dutch), some bucks and bloods were drinking in a room of the Fleece Tavern, York Street, Covent Garden, late at night. Among the company were Lord Morley and his follower Captain Francis Bromwich, Harry Hastings, and his friend Mark Trevor, with John Johnson, and some others of the Mohawk tribe. The Fleece was a notorious house, in which several gentlemen of name had recently been killed in drunken brawls.

Morley and Hastings, night-birds of the town, had reeled into the Fleece about eleven o'clock, and sat there drinking till the chimes struck four. About this time Lord Morley missed a half-crown piece, which he had either laid, or only fancied he had laid, on the table, and accused the company of picking up his coin. Hastings, flushed with wine, repelled the insult, knowing that what his lordship wanted was to fasten this charge on him. Bad blood was in their hearts. Ten years ago they had a row; they drew upon each other; and Lord Morley was disarmed and hurt. Since that mishap it was supposed that Morley had been waiting for revenge; resolved to pick a quarrel when occasion served, and he could kill his enemy in what might seem to be an act of self-defence. He had attached to his person Captain Bromwich, an able fencer and successful duellist, who had killed his man, and was a hero of the tavern and the park. He had annoyed his enemy with petty slights; refusing his salute, abusing him in private, and reflecting on his courage. He had tried to make him drink, and draw when he was hot with wine. But Hastings was a dangerous man to tempt, for he was no less ready with his sword than with his tongue. He, too, like Captain Bromwich, had slain his man, and as a fencer he had scarcely any rival from Covent Garden to Tothill Fields.

"Where is my half-crown piece?" roared Morley, fastening on his tipsy foe.

"Half-crown!" quoth Hastings; "what half-crown?"

Morley declared that he had laid his coin on the table; that some one in the company had picked it up.

"Half-crown!" jerked Hastings, in a tone of scorn, ‘take these for it," and threw down four half-crowns. Lord Morley pressed his point; some one had taken his half-crown; and he would have it back — the very coin.

"How can a man of honour make so much of half-a-crown?" cried Hastings. Bromwich drew his sword. "Put up your blade," said Hastings, turning to the fencer; "meddle in no man's quarrel but your own." The Captain sheathed his weapon, whereupon Lord Morley yelled across the board — "We don't come here to stab folk!" "Nor do we," retorted Hastings; "we come for no such purpose; but if such a thing were to be done, a fitter place was out of doors."

The Captain drew again, and hector'd for his lord; on which Mark Trevor, as the friend of Hastings, also drew. Morley and Hastings drew as well, and passed upon each other till the landlord and the company rushed between them; one to save his house from further stain of blood, the other to prevent a crime in which they might have a share. But Morley would not hold his tongue.

"I am a gentleman," shouted Hastings; as by birth he was; a gentleman of the noblest blood. "A gentleman, and as good a gentleman as my lord!"

On this the tumult rose again; the Captain drew, Mark Trevor drew; and all the bucks and bloods poured noisily out into the street. A streak of April dawn lit up the town, and citizens put their heads from windows as the rioters rolled down Bow Street, through Clare Market and the passages leading into Lincoln's Inn Fields. In Bow Street, Bromwich made a pass at Hastings, which Mark Trevor parried. Morley for a moment slunk away, supposing (it was afterwards suspected) that his bravo would be able to do the job alone; but he was not far off, and by-and-bye he joined the band once more.

"What is it all about?" asked Hastings, whom the April air was sobering fast. I'll give five pounds to any one, he said to a gentleman near him, "who will tell me what this quarrel is about!"

Beneath the archway leading from Duke Street into Lincoln's Inn Fields, Morley set upon him. Hastings parried, and fell back some steps, to clear his point; but Morley and Bromwich pressed upon him closely, and he could not put himself on guard. Bromwich struck down his sword, and Morley, rushing on him, seized him by the shoulder, turned his blade, and jobbed his own weapon like a knife into his skull. The point went through the bone, two inches deep, right down into the brain. Hastings fell back wounded to the death. Morley drew out his sword, and flung it on the dying man, exclaiming, "Damn me, there you lie, you rogue! I promised you, and now you have it."

A crowd soon gathered round the brawlers, and assisted in conveying Hastings to a surgeon's shop. Tatham the surgeon made a brief examina- tion of the wound; but Hastings was beyond the reach of drugs and bands. What could be done for him was done; he lingered out the night, and next day was a corpse.