Memoir of Francis Hodgson
        Henry Drury to Francis Hodgson, [August 1811]
        
        
          
        
        
          
        
       
      
      
      
      
     
     
    
    
       King’s College, Cambridge. 
     
    
     My dear Hodgson,—All the way from Puckeridge to-day I was conning an
                                    extempore laughing epistle; but have been so shocked with the account of poor
                                        Matthews’s death, though I
                                    never saw him, ![]()
![]() that I can only
                                    write plain prose now. The reason I write is to request you not again to write
                                    to Hart on the subject. He alone saw him
                                    die—saw him in his very last agony—and but for him the body might
                                    have been at this moment beneath the waters. Not fifty of the strongest-bodied
                                    men in England could, without ropes, have given the slightest assistance. I am
                                    this moment returned with Hart from the spot. There is
                                    literally a bed of weeds, thick, more than eight feet deep. Poor
                                        Hart, I see, is sadly cut down.
 that I can only
                                    write plain prose now. The reason I write is to request you not again to write
                                    to Hart on the subject. He alone saw him
                                    die—saw him in his very last agony—and but for him the body might
                                    have been at this moment beneath the waters. Not fifty of the strongest-bodied
                                    men in England could, without ropes, have given the slightest assistance. I am
                                    this moment returned with Hart from the spot. There is
                                    literally a bed of weeds, thick, more than eight feet deep. Poor
                                        Hart, I see, is sadly cut down. 
    
     These are the facts. You know the fork above the mills,
                                    thus— 
                                    |  1. Newnham mills. |  4. Spot where Matthews was drowned. | 
|  2. Queen’s mills. |  5. Freshmen’s pool. | 
|  3. Spot where Hart was bathing. |  6. Course of the river towards
                                                Grandchester. | 
![]() Matthews had gone to bathe solo. Two
                                    gownsmen came, bathed, and left Freshmen’s pool while he was bathing.
                                    From the best computation he
                                    Matthews had gone to bathe solo. Two
                                    gownsmen came, bathed, and left Freshmen’s pool while he was bathing.
                                    From the best computation he ![]()
| 184 | MEMOIR OF REV. F. HODGSON. |  | 
![]() must have been in
                                    three-quarters of an hour. These men (who did not know him) saw him (as in
                                    bravado) stem down from points a and b what seemed an inextricable mass of weeds; these he cleared, had
                                    got down to b, and was returning—the last they saw
                                    of him, as they went homewards. Hart was alone on the bank
                                    when he distinctly heard the cry of ‘Help, help!’ He had seen
                                    nobody in the water; but, directed by the noise, he came to the spot. Nothing
                                    was to be seen. He looked up and down the river (he was at a measured 140 yards
                                    off when the άραια ϕωνή first came
                                    to him). He looked up and down the river some time, as I said, and thought the
                                    person might have escaped in the flags on the other side. Conceive his horror
                                    when on a sudden there darted up in the middle of the river a human form
                                    half-length out of the water. He made an excessive struggle. His arms were
                                    locked in weed; so were his legs and thighs. You never saw such a place. He
                                    looked most wistfully at Hart as if he knew him.
                                        Hart, who had been incessantly holloaing
                                    ‘Help!’ (the two men came back, but too late to see the last),
                                    called to him, ‘For Heaven’s sake, Matthews,
                                    make no more exertions; try to keep still till a rope is procured!’ In a
                                    resistless struggle Matthews then disentangled
 must have been in
                                    three-quarters of an hour. These men (who did not know him) saw him (as in
                                    bravado) stem down from points a and b what seemed an inextricable mass of weeds; these he cleared, had
                                    got down to b, and was returning—the last they saw
                                    of him, as they went homewards. Hart was alone on the bank
                                    when he distinctly heard the cry of ‘Help, help!’ He had seen
                                    nobody in the water; but, directed by the noise, he came to the spot. Nothing
                                    was to be seen. He looked up and down the river (he was at a measured 140 yards
                                    off when the άραια ϕωνή first came
                                    to him). He looked up and down the river some time, as I said, and thought the
                                    person might have escaped in the flags on the other side. Conceive his horror
                                    when on a sudden there darted up in the middle of the river a human form
                                    half-length out of the water. He made an excessive struggle. His arms were
                                    locked in weed; so were his legs and thighs. You never saw such a place. He
                                    looked most wistfully at Hart as if he knew him.
                                        Hart, who had been incessantly holloaing
                                    ‘Help!’ (the two men came back, but too late to see the last),
                                    called to him, ‘For Heaven’s sake, Matthews,
                                    make no more exertions; try to keep still till a rope is procured!’ In a
                                    resistless struggle Matthews then disentangled ![]()
![]() the weeds from his arms (I
                                    saw the very weeds), and threw them from him. This effort was his last; as if
                                    exhausted in it, he fell back. He was under the water in an instant, and no
                                    trace was left of him. Hart succeeded in having him got
                                    out in twelve minutes; but all too late. Every one who has been on the spot
                                    highly commends all Hart did. I verily think he nearly
                                    killed himself in his endeavours. The part of the river is the very broadest.
                                    The weeds go from one bank to the other; and were, as I said, eight feet
                                    perpendicularly deep. Temerity little short of madness could have induced
                                        Matthews to attempt them. More when we meet.
 the weeds from his arms (I
                                    saw the very weeds), and threw them from him. This effort was his last; as if
                                    exhausted in it, he fell back. He was under the water in an instant, and no
                                    trace was left of him. Hart succeeded in having him got
                                    out in twelve minutes; but all too late. Every one who has been on the spot
                                    highly commends all Hart did. I verily think he nearly
                                    killed himself in his endeavours. The part of the river is the very broadest.
                                    The weeds go from one bank to the other; and were, as I said, eight feet
                                    perpendicularly deep. Temerity little short of madness could have induced
                                        Matthews to attempt them. More when we meet. 
     God bless you, my dear friend! 
    
    
    Henry Joseph Thomas Drury  (1778-1841)  
                  The eldest son of Joseph Drury, Byron's headmaster; he was fellow of King's College,
                        Cambridge and assistant-master at Harrow from 1801. In 1808 he married Ann Caroline Tayler,
                        whose sisters married Drury's friends Robert Bland and Francis Hodgson.
               
 
    Thomas Hart  (1770-1826)  
                  Of Eton and King's College, Cambridge where he was fellow (1793-1817) and vice-provost
                        (1815-17); he was a friend of Francis Hodgson and Henry Drury.
               
 
    Francis Hodgson  (1781-1852)  
                  Provost of Eton College, translator of Juvenal (1807) and close friend of Byron. He wrote
                        for the 
Monthly and 
Critical Reviews, and was
                        author of (among other volumes of poetry) 
Childe Harold's Monitor; or
                            Lines occasioned by the last Canto of Childe Harold (1818).
               
 
    Charles Skinner Matthews  (1785-1811)  
                  The libertine friend of Byron and Hobhouse at Trinity College, Cambridge; he was drowned
                        in the Cam.