In October of the same year, a young woman aged about twenty, attired in nautical garb, was seized at Plymouth by the Press-gang, and sent to Captain Toby. On her capture she was placed for safety in the town jail. Not relishing her imprisonment, she roundly abused Captain Toby, told him she was a woman, that her name was Hannah Whitney, that she was born in Ireland, and had served on board several British men-of-war for upwards of five years. She concluded by informing the astounded captain that she would never have discovered her sex if they had not placed her in a common jail. Of course she was immediately released.
There is (or was) a monument in Chelsea church, commemorative of the masculine courage of Anne Chamberlayne, only daughter of Edward Chamberlayne, Doctor of Laws. She appears to have been infected with an ardour for naval glory by her two brothers, who were both distinguished officers on board men-of-war. Putting on the dress of a sailor, she joined the crew of a fine ship, commanded by one of her brothers; and in an engagement with the French, she fought most gallantly for upwards of six hours.
On the 27th of June, 1808, died at Liverpool Mary Ralphson, a Scottish heroine. She was born in Lochaber, June 1st, 1698; and married Ralph Ralphson, then a private in the British army. She followed her husband in all his campaigns under the Duke of Cumberland, and was present with him in several famous engagements. On the breaking out of the war in French Flanders she embarked with the troops, and shared their toils and vicissitudes. Being present on the field of Dettingen during the heat of the conflict, surrounded with heaps of the slain, she saw a wounded dragoon fall dead by her side. She disguised herself in his clothes, and regained the British camp; then returned with her husband to England. After this she accompanied him in his later campaigns under the Duke of Cumberland. She lived to a fine old age, and was supported during her declining years chiefly by some benevolent ladies of Liverpool.
There is just a hint of a loyal Jacobite heroine in a curious old Scotch ballad called "Polly Oliver's Ramble." The song commences:--
"As pretty Polly Oliver lay musing in bed, A comical fancy came into her head; Nor father nor mother shall make me false prove, I'll list for a soldier and follow my love."