We see the working of the dogs of war in a far more vivid manner in these cotemporary pages than in those of after history. The Anson frigate sails so near the Hoche (French admiral’s ship), that they can see “on board the whites of the eyes of the marines,” with whom she is so crowded as to cause her “to sail badly.” From Ireland again we have tidings of Major-General Trench’s defeat of the rebels, “with great slaughter,” in the neighbourhood of Killaloe; and there is a charming picture drawn of the French Commandant of the town, cooped up with his officers in the Bishop’s Palace with that dignitary, himself armed to the teeth against the very rebels he had come to succour. Then there are the paragraphs of courts-martial, in which it is thought sufficient to say “some have been hanged, and various punishments have been inflicted on others.” Little paragraphs hint at the social condition of the period, and show what a robust habit the public had of expressing their opinions; everywhere physical force was in the ascendant.
A singular example of the license which roughs were allowed in those days, is given in a paragraph which states that a mob on the previous evening gathered round the entrance of the Admiralty in honour of the great victory; and adds:
They insisted on every person of genteel appearance pulling off their hats. Six officers passing along were ordered to pay the same compliment to the mobility, and, refusing to do so, the populace attempted to force their hats off. The officers drew their swords, and it is said that some persons were wounded.
This reads like a scene in a pantomime, or like some of those little Austrian or Prussian affairs we used to hear of in which the supreme contempt of the military for civilians and the civil law was so conspicuous. Imagine half-a-dozen officers of the guard showing fight with their falchions to roughs now-a-days! Public opinion in those times of forbidden utterance through the press, generally found means to express itself in these rough and terrible scenes; and they were blunt of speech also in the most “genteel places.” For instance, there appeared to have been an unusual amount of cat-calling and abuse of the musicians at Drury Lane that night, because having been wearied with playing “Rule Britannia,” and “God save the King,” they would not listen to a boisterous cry on the part of some individual for “Britons strike home,” a demand which was silenced by some one singing out in the gallery, “Why, damn it, they have, haven’t they?” The recording of such little episodes as these is strikingly illustrative of the strong stomachs which our ancestors had for forcible language. The reader cannot read far down a column without coming in contact with specimens of the violence of that age. We are told that
John Hanning, the seaman who killed one of the press-gang at Newhaven, was discovered hanging in his cell this morning,—
a hint at a double death caused by the working of the infamous press-gang law. The poor fellow was further followed by the vindictive usages of the times, for we are told that he was buried in the evening, in the cross roads near St. Paul’s, but that the stake commonly used on such occasions was dispensed with. The highwayman and footpad it is evident were then in full fashion, for there are no less than three highway robberies recorded as having happened on the previous day. Mr. Vernon of the Treasury, and another gentleman travelling in a post-chaise were stopped near Merton, by two footpads, and were robbed of all their valuables. It does seem rather strange, that three men, for there must have been a postilion, should have so quietly given in to two rascals on foot. Lieutenant Miller of the Horse Guards was stopped by two highwaymen,” and “Mr. Couvoisier, one of her Majesty’s messengers, at Maidenhead,” in the same manner.
An affair of honour is not wanting in this number of the paper to make the manners of the times perfect, for we are informed that one came off between Captain H and Colonel A, on account of a supposed injury in Ireland; and there is a forcible abduction, too, of a Miss. Mitchell, by a gentleman in the county of Cork,—which really reads like a case we heard of only a few years ago.
We have a hint, too, of a project on foot which has since been realised, namely, a tunnel under the Thames; but, in this instance, between Gravesend and Tilbury. There appears to have been just the same style of glorifying the “spirit of progress” in those days as there is now, for we hear that—
Among the wonders of the present day Mrs. Siddons’s late achievements at Brighton, Bath, and London should not be forgotten. She positively performed at each of these places within the incredibly short space of ninety-six hours.
Four days and nights! Not so bad by Palmer’s mail; but how flat and slow seem the wonders of one age to that which follows. How near the chit-chat of a newspaper brings you to past events,—you can’t help feeling yourself a contemporary. What life and movement; what petty details, all of which, however, are necessary to fill up the picture of the time, and to clothe the bones which history picks so bare. It seems as though we were talking to our grandfather when we read of John Kemble as Zanga, in the “Revenge,” “finely marking the subtle and malignant spirit of vengeance” of the Moor; and one almost feels inclined to endorse the extravagant opinion of our grandpapas, with respect to the grandiose actors in the stilted dismal plays of that day.
Mrs. Powell did not disdain the unimportant character of Leonora—a bright face like hers would indeed have lighted up any character. We wish some of the actresses of the present day would emulate her disinterestedness.
The two great political figures of the period make their appearance in several parts of the paper. Mr. Fox, we are told by the opposition papers, “does not mean to attend his duties in parliament during the ensuing session,” whereupon we have the editorial remark—the “Times” in those days was no namby-pamby Conservative, but downright Tory—
