While America threatened some fearful catastrophe, Great Britain was scarcely less disturbed by internal troubles and commotions. Much as he desired the happiness of the people, the jewels set in his majesty’s crown were intermixed with sharp, piercing thorns. This is plainly observable in the previous pages, wherein the difficulties which had beset his various administrations, and which chiefly arose from the discordant passions of their members, are historically narrated. Burke rightly observes:—“Our constitution stands on a nice equipoise, with steep precipices and deep waters on all sides of it: in removing it from a dangerous leaning toward one side, there may be a risk of oversetting it on the other. Every project or a material change in a government so complicated, combined, at the same time, with external circumstances still more complicated, is a matter full of difficulties.” This is not the language of a casual observer of men and manners, but of a profound politician. It is borne out by his majesty’s early experience. The scheme which he adopted soon after his accession of breaking the power of the Whig aristocracy, and of calling men of different parties to the service of the state, was not only surrounded with difficulties, but fraught with clanger. Men looked with favour on the long-established supremacy of these great families, and their influence and power were therefore not easily broken. Bute sought to dissolve the spell; but the hand of Bute was not that of a magician, and he signally failed in the attempt. Broken, but not subdued, the aristocracy formed new parties, and acted upon new principles, all calculated, when dictated by the spirit of opposition, to annoy the sovereign, and disarrange the machinery of the state. Cabinets, formed with nice art and care, were unable to withstand their opponents; whence their frequent disarrangements and dissolutions. The age became signalised by ministerial revolutions and cabinet abortions; and why? because the cabinets formed were not supported by public opinion. Parliament itself had lost much of its credit with the people by reason of its indecisive measures. It had forfeited their confidence, nor could the recall of Pitt to the helm of state restore it to their favour, or rescue the sovereign from the dilemma in which he had placed himself. Intractable at all times, from the opposition he had met with, and from ill health, he had become so imperious, that, like an old Roman consul, he would fain have yoked the people, the cabinet, and the monarch to his chariot-wheels. Moreover, since he had become an earl, he was a changed man. He no longer sided with, but against, the people; sheltering himself from their clamours in the stronghold of privilege. Hence it was, that when he coalesced with others, he found no support on which he could lean with safety, and by which he could assist the monarch. His staff was but a reed on which, if he leant, it pierced his hand. This Chatham felt; and though he clung tenaciously to office, from the fear of displaying his weakness and incapacity, he only acted, when he did act, behind the scenes. Ministerial exertions were also paralysed by another cause. A prevalent notion existed that there was a mysterious power about the court which worked to the detriment of the public good. This was a constant theme of invective among the opposition, and, it would seem, not without good reason. But there was another cause of obstruction to the measures formed by government. This was found in the democratical spirit, which now universally prevailed. Courted by the aristocracy, who had till very recently
“Held them dangling at arm’s length in scorn,”
and grown comparatively wealthy since relieved from the pressure of war, the population became restless, jealous, and insubordinate. The man whose fortune was only made, as it were, yesterday, deemed himself as great a man as the highest and noblest born aristocrat; while the man who had squandered away his patrimony, sought to restore himself from his fallen position in society, by assuming principles of patriotism which in his heart he despised. Moreover, the conduct of their rulers, which had been too frequently vacillating and manifestly corrupt, taught the great body of the people to look upon them with suspicion and distrust. Talk they as loud as they might of honesty of intention, of unimpeachable integrity, and of pure patriotism, the people nevertheless would not now believe them. Hence, political associations began to be formed; taverns were made so many parliament houses; and the people seemed as if they were resolved to take the government into their own hands.
But oh! ye Muses, keep your votary’s feet From tavern-haunts where politicians meet Where rector, doctor, and attorney pause, First on each parish, then each public cause: Indited roads and rates that still increase; The murmuring poor, who will not fast in peace: Election zeal and friendship since declined, A tax commuted, or a tithe in kind; The Dutch and German? kindling into strife; Hull port and poachers vile!—the serious ills of life.
THE RETURN OF WILKES, ETC.
Such was the state of society when writs were issued for a new election. Encouraged by it, John Wilkes once more stepped upon the stage, and offered himself as a candidate for the suffrages of the people. And, as it has been well said, Mephistopheles himself could not have chosen a better time for mischief. For, at this time, the populace had no idol in whom they could place their confidence, and they hailed his reappearance with delight. By their aid, indeed, he soon became enabled to insult his sovereign, and to trample on the legislature with impunity. Unprincipled as he was, he became the man of their choice, and their “champion bold” in the cause of what was called liberty.
Wilkes had made an attempt to return to England during the Rockingham ministry, but that party would not receive his overtures. Recently he had also sounded the Duke of Grafton, with whom he had formerly been on terms of intimacy; but his application for his mediation with the king was treated by that nobleman with neglect and disdain. Thus disappointed, and finding his situation at Paris, from his accumulated load of debt, disagreeable, he at length resolved to brave every danger. During the elections, he boldly presented himself at Guildhall, as a candidate to represent the metropolitan city in parliament. He was received with rapturous applause by the populace; but his present views were frustrated by some of the good citizens of London, who exerted all their influence to insure his defeat. Nothing daunted, however, Wilkes immediately offered himself for the county, and he was returned by the freeholders of Middlesex, by a very large majority. The mob, on this occasion, was in a transport of joy. The air rang with shouts of “Wilkes and Liberty!” and by way of exhibiting their exultation at their triumph, they demolished Bute’s windows in the west, and the windows of the mansion-house, in the east of the city.
Having secured his election for Middlesex, and confident of the support of the people, Wilkes appeared, in the month of April, in the court of king’s bench, and declared himself ready to submit to the laws of his country. Lord Mansfield, then on the bench, suggested that as he was not before the court by any legal process, no notice could be taken of his professed submission, and he was permitted to depart. On retiring, he was received with loud acclamations by the mob, and the general impression was, that Wilkes had conquered the government, and that the arm of the people was stronger than the arm of the law. Wilkes, likewise, may have flattered himself that he was secure from all further process; but, if so, he soon found himself deceived. Within a week, a writ of capias ut legatum was issued against him, and he was taken into custody. Sergeant Glynn, his counsel, pointed out several errors in the outlawry, and offered bail; but the judges decided that no bail could be taken, and he was at once committed to the king’s bench prison. But the populace was resolved to reverse this decree. As he was proceeding over Westminster-bridge, they stopped the coach in which he was conveyed, took out the horses, and dragged him in triumph through the city, to a public-house in Spitalfields, where they retained him till nearly midnight. Wilkes, however, thought proper, when the people dispersed, to repair to the marshal of the king’s bench, out of whose hands the mob had rescued him, and surrender himself. But as soon as it was known that the “patriot” was in prison, the mob showed signs of rescuing him again. Crowds collected around his prison-house, pulled down the outward fence, and made a bonfire with it on the spot. An order was sent to the horse-guards, and a body of soldiers were stationed near the prison, but this only tended to increase the popular excitement. Every day, for nearly a fortnight, the mob abused the soldiers, and the soldiers threatened the mob, so that the metropolis was one continued scene of riot and confusion; Wilkes adding fuel to the flames from within the doors of his prison.
Such was the public temper when parliament reassembled on the 10th of May. The people supposed that neither strong walls, nor stronger laws, could prevent Wilkes from taking his seat in the house of commons, as member for Middlesex; and they assembled in great numbers round the gates of his prison, in order to escort him to Westminster. But the gates remained bolted and barred, and Wilkes continued secure within. They waited patiently for awhile, but when doubts arose whether they should be permitted to see then-idol, their patience at first grew into uneasiness, until at length it gendered into a storm of furious disappointment and passion. Demands were made for his appearance, but they were unheeded and unanswered. Their violence grew with their clamour, and it was in vain that they were urged to depart in peace. Stones and brickbats were aimed at the heads of the magistrates who attempted to read the riot act, and the military by whom they were guarded. Self-defence compelled the order to fire, which was readily obeyed by the soldiers; the more so, because the companies selected for the service were nearly all Highlanders and Lowland Scots, whose strong national feelings had been wounded by Wilkes, in his North Briton. Four or five persons were killed, and many more wounded; and among those who perished was a youth of the name of Allen, who had taken no part in the riot. One of the soldiers gave chase to a young man who had been pelting them, and by mistake shot Allen in a cow-house, near St. George’s-fields, while he was in the act of protesting his innocence. This occurrence tended to increase the popular rage. At the coroner’s inquest, a verdict of wilful murder was brought in against the soldier who shot Allen, and two others were charged with aiding and abetting. Maclean—for that was the name of the soldier who shot Allen—was committed to prison, and warrants were issued against the others as accessories. At the same time, Mr. Gillam, one of the Surrey magistrates, who had given the order to fire, was indicted for murder. On the other hand, the parliament then sitting voted loyal addresses to his majesty on the occasion, with assurances that every measure, which was adopted for the maintenance of the authority of the laws, had their hearty concurrence; and Lord Barrington returned thanks to the officers and men employed in this service, and directed that the crown lawyers should defend the soldiers under prosecution. This had the effect of exasperating the populace still more. They saw that the soldiers would be acquitted—which was actually the case, and rewarded likewise—and the exploit was named by the unenviable denomination of “The Massacre of St. George’s-fields.” Exciting papers were stuck up in every part of the metropolis, and even on the very walls of St. James’s-palace. The mansion-house was assailed so frequently that a constant guard of soldiers was necessary to defend it from demolition. The firm of civil authority appeared too weak to control the unbridled passions of the populace; and it was rendered still more impotent by other riots and disturbances which broke out unconnected with politics. Coalheavers, sailors, and watermen at this time complained of low wages, and of frauds practised upon them by their employers; and Stepney-fields likewise became a scene of combat which could only be quelled by the military.