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For some of the eighteenth century, legal practitioners call themselves solicitors: at other times they are "attorneys at law". Whatever they are called, they have the same modus operandi. (The term "attorney at law" should not be confused with "attorney": this is someone (such as a navy agent) appointed by an approved legal document to take care of someone else's finances.)
Major David Parry is not a navy man, but Cort seems to treat him the same way as navy clients - indeed, may offer favourable treatment. He continues to run an account for Parry after relinquishing his navy clients in 1773. That query "[?regimental] 'agent]" in the PRO catalogue (one researcher who spots it tells me "Cort was never a navy agent, he was an army agent"): most likely some rash cataloguer trying to explain Cort's connection with Major Parry, and unaware of his reputation as a navy agent. No other evidence has been found of Cort acting as agent for anyone in the army.
For a period starting about the time of Cort's marriage in 1768, he has handled (presumably by request of William Attwick) an account for dealings between him and David Parry, probably resulting from debts run up by Parry's brother Roger during his time as a ship's chaplain. The Parry v Cort files contain many "bills of exchange" written (hurriedly, by the look of it) by Parry during this period: effectively cheques drawn on his account with Cort. It is a letter from Parry that establishes Cort's presence in Gosport in May 1776: his previous letter to Cort is addressed to Crutched Friars, August 1775. After Parry's marriage to heiress Catherine Okeden in 1774, he vests in Cort the power of attorney for some of his transactions. He evidently trusts Cort, but a year later he becomes convinced that Cort is abusing this power, creaming off money he isn't entitled to; and complains formally to the Court of Chancery. One of his complaints is that Cort won't provide a statement of his account. A charge easily enough countered. Cort's statement is part of his defence: it shows income and expenditure like a modern bank statement. It is nevertheless a difficult time for Cort to have to defend himself. He has wound up his agency business, passing most of his clients to Oliver Toulmin, and is preparing to move to Gosport to take over the running of Attwick's ironmongery business. One way he responds to Parry's complaint is to enlist the help of Daniel Guion, evidently a long-time associate. From this point on, Guion is involved in many Parry-Cort transactions. I am fortunate to make contact with one of Guion's descendants (November 2011), who fills in some of the gaps in my own research. Guion is from a Huguenot line, many (including his father) also called Daniel. Born 1st January 1742, baptised 16 January at St James, Westminster. Listed as "merchant" in London trade directories: first at 19 Pavement, Moorfields, later at Cort's former address of 35 Crutched Friars. His will in August 1774 is witnessed by Oliver Toulmin, Henry Cort and Cort's clerk Richard Ashton. He moves to Gosport shortly after Cort, and becomes a juror there in 1778. He has two sons who both become officers in the Navy. He dies around the beginning of May 1780, and is buried at Alverstoke. His widow Ann returns to London, where she becomes matron of the London Hospital in 1790.
This case arises after Captain Thomas Lee drowns when his ship, the Aurora, sinks in the Indian Ocean. Cort is Lee's agent. Lee's sister Hannah Clarke and her husband Arthur win administration of Lee's estate. How much is it worth? The answer depends on the balance of Lee's account with Cort. Like Parry, the Clarkes accuse Cort of withholding information, so Cort responds with a statement. By his reckoning, the account is in the red. He declares that Lee has given him authority to take goods to cover the debt. The court has to be convinced that he has taken no more than his due, so he provides a statement of Lee's account - the best evidence of the sort of transactions Cort needs to cover as a navy agent.
A complaint is made by James Waller, a clerk in Kensington responsible for an annuity to John Becher. Cort, he alleges, agreed to take over this responsibility, then reneged on his undertaking. The complaint is interesting in describing Oliver Toulmin as Cort's agent in London.
This is covered elsewhere.
Suppose you are an eighteenth century litigant. You have gone to a solicitor or attorney and told him your story. He questions you about details, and carefully notes your answers. No hurry: you are paying for his time. Once satisfied, he sends you off and gets his clerk to write out your complaint in the professional manner. This task completed, he invites you back to approve the official version. You are presented with a capacious sheet, some 75cm wide (at least) and probably greater in height, filled with the handwriting of the gallant clerk: usually quite legible, but comprehensible is another matter. For a really complicated complaint it may run to two sheets. When you inspect this screed (if you can be bothered to) don't look for punctuation it is all written out in one paragraph one sentence with eventually when you get to the end a full stop. It is addressed at the beginning to the Lord Chancellor to whom you introduce yourself as your orator or oratrix if female then tell the story from your point of view at some point naming the person or persons against whom you are complaining hereinafter to be known as the defendant or defendants when complete you summarise your complaint then list the questions that need to be answered by the said defendant or defendants plus sundry persons unknown with whom they may have conspired. Got all that? Kindly sign here. And now for the fee... And you have the joy of knowing that the defendant or defendants have to go through a similar rigmarole.
Then the justices have their turn. If they can't decide immediately on a verdict, they commission another lawyer to draw up a questionnaire which is sent to all likely witnesses; replies are written down in an "interrogatory". Switch to the twenty-first century. You've gone to the PRO (National Archives) to look up a chancery file. Maybe it's one that's been recommended. Or is it something from the catalogue that looks promising? If it's from the catalogue, be warned. It may not contain all the information about the case. If you're lucky the complaint, defences and interrogatories will all be in the same file. More likely the interrogatories will be filed elsewhere. If there is more than one defendant, you may have to look in another file for some of the defences. For example, there are two files designated Norbury v Hill. The 1794 file contains the original complaint, in which thirteen defendants are named, together with two of their responses. The 1797 file contains interrogatories. For other defendants' responses, you need to look in both Norbury v Meredith and Norbury v Attorney General files. A bigger problem is in recognising in advance which files are going to be useful. The title tells you the names of one complainant and one defendant, and the date of the complaint. I find nine chancery files listed when I search under the name Becher between 1760 and 1775. Of the six I open, only two relate to John and Ann Becher, the family I am interested in. Another time I open a file titled Scott v Boulton, selected because I know that Matthew Boulton has a customer called Scott, also linked to Henry Cort. The protagonists in this case turn out to be a different Scott and a different Boulton. So… You're at the PRO, you've ordered your file, and in due course it arrives in an oblong box. Inside the box you find two or three tubes, each labelled to show a sequence of files. You select the tube you want, open it, and pull out a roll of the sacred relics left by those blessed eighteenth-century lawyers. Remove any binding. Next you unroll the monstrous sheets, extract the file you want (which may contain several sheets tied together) and stop it from rolling itself up again (the PRO supplies an assortment of paperweights to help in this last bit). Now you can start to read through these acres of legalistic waffle. You'll find the complainant's name pretty quickly. If you're doubtful whether the file is of interest, my advice is then to scan through quickly to identify the defendants. I also advise skipping the rest once you've reached the end of the narrative bit. You may want to read more than one sheet, and of course you'll want to take notes (did you bring a laptop?). Unless you have a masochistic streak, you won't want to copy every word. Eventually you're done with reading and note-taking. Your task isn't over yet. You have to reassemble the files for putting back in their tube. Be fair to the next guy, keep them in numerical order. Roll them up as tightly as you can (otherwise they may not fit), bind them and insert into the tube. Return the tube to its box. Return the box to the counter. Breathe a sigh of relief.
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The pages on this site are copied from the original site of Eric Alexander (henrycort.net) with his allowance. |