make him comfortable), the discussions were likely to be worth reporting, and one only regrets that the wonderful machine, called the Gallery, was then so imperfect, in comparison with what it is now, when oratory is so rare. But although the Ministers had been exposed to constant questionings, and several hot debates had arisen upon the state of the Continent and our own want of adequate defences, the fatal sign of certain war was not given until the 8th of March, when the King sent the House a Message. It was brief and to the purpose, and the answer was an instant vote of Ten Thousand Seamen.
Not much time was lost. On “the very next Sunday of all” our Ambassador, Lord Whitworth, attended a Court at the Tuileries (which used then to be spelt with an “h” in it), and the First Consul, in the presence of two hundred people, thus addressed the Englishman:
“So you want to go to war.”
“No,” responded the calm English nobleman; “on the contrary, we are too sensible of the advantages of peace.”
Thereupon the Uncle of his Nephew flew into a Satanic rage.
“The English want war; but if they are the first to draw the sword, I will not be the first to sheathe it. They don’t respect treaties.”
Lord Whitworth was, of course, too high-bred a gentleman to burst out laughing at the idea of a Napoleon talking about keeping treaties, and was sufficiently decorous in his reply to our rude Uncle. The latter broke out again:
“What are you arming for? I tell you that you may destroy France, but you cannot frighten her.”
There was some more of this kind of thing, which Lord Whitworth duly reported to his chief at home. It became more and more clear that the fight was coming. When an Emperor of France makes pointed remarks at a reception, the knapsacks are all but packed—we have seen something of that in our time. But when he grows abusive, ambassadors order the laundresses to send home those shirts.
The 21st of March was the anniversary of the Battle of Alexandria. If you will go into St. James’s Park, you will see a Turkish gun on a beautiful carriage, with sphinxes and other Egyptian ornaments. The gun passed from French hands to English, and other English hands placed it in that corner on this day. On the 11th, Bonaparte, while driving in a carriage and four, was thrown out at St. Cloud, but not much hurt. I wonder whether our fathers and uncles, when they heard the news, said anything about his neck, and put any sort of participle before the noun, and wished. I fear it is possible, from what one knows of their sons and nephews.
Then came the crash. The ambassadors of the two countries, hurrying home, cross each other, and an Order in Council comes out, for granting General Reprisals, and 5l. for every seaman. And next day, the 18th May, 1803, comes the Declaration of War. Please to note certain points in it.
King George begs to contrast the liberal commercial spirit of England with the spirit of France in such matters. The King calls attention to Napoleon’s military occupation of Holland, to his violation of the liberties of Switzerland, and to his territorial annexations in Italy. Our Sovereign states that Napoleon is threatening the integrity of the Turkish Empire. His Majesty remarks upon Napoleon’s having made attempts to shackle the press of England. I really feel bound to repeat that I am writing concerning 1803.
War is declared, and both parties go to work in earnest. Napoleon, in a very scoundrelly fashion, “detains” the English who had been residing in France, 11,000 of them, and 1300 in Holland, an act which is foolish as well as wicked, for it inflames the hatred of England against him to a degree not easily conceivable. The King of England declines entering the war as King of Hanover, and that province surrenders to Mortier—there was no saving it. On the other hand our ships dash at the French colonies, and take them one after the other, and we make the sea no safe place for French vessels. Parliament strengthens the hands of Government, and what opposition is made to the conduct of Ministers is borne down in the Lords by a majority of 142 to 10 (the Earl of Derby one of the ten), and in the Commons by a majority of 398 to 67 (Mr., afterwards Earl Grey, Fox, and Whitbread three of the 67), and Twelve Millions of War Taxes are granted. An army of reserve, of 50,000 men, is planned, and it is not to go out of the country; but an army of nearly eight times that number springs up voluntarily, as you shall see. There is a bill, too, for raising a levy en masse in case of invasion. The country is roused. London gives in its assurance of support to Government, and the Common Council raises 800 men. The merchants meet on the Royal Exchange, and do not talk at all in the tone of Lord Overstone, but are ready “to stand or fall with their King and country.” Lloyd’s raises a noble subscription, and, as in the days of the Pretender, the City—not then the sham it is now voted—“pronounced” for England, and with tremendous effect. Sad, indeed, was the contrast abroad. Napoleon closed the ports, and ruined the traders, and while English merchants were pouring out their gold to be transmuted into steel and lead, thirty wretched Hamburgh merchants cut their throats in one week. "Des bagatelles,” said Napoleon, when charged with one of his crimes.
Parliament was content to leave the war to the Ministers, and was prorogued on the 12th August, the King being hugely cheered by the excited people on his way to and from the House. The Volunteer movement had now spread all over the country, and everywhere there was drill, patient, earnest, vigorous, just such as has been going on, to the honour of the manhood of England, for several months past. I must speak of results only—the machinery by which such results are brought about is under the eyes of all of us. It was arranged that the King should review the Volunteers, or rather so many of them as could be brought together in London. There were to be two review days, one for the London men, the other for Westminster, Lambeth, and Southwark.
Everybody will have read the “Times” of last Saturday. Comparatively few are now living who