[7] By the month of August, 1797, the Gazette had more than 2500 subscribers.
CHAPTER VIII.
“WHEN I LEFT THEM, I CERTAINLY DID SHAKE THE DUST OFF MY SHOES.”
As a champion of the liberty of the press, Mr. Cobbett holds a place among the very foremost; and, indeed, a minor object of the biographer, in this history, is to establish his claim to that place. But it may still remain open to question how far that liberty is to go: perhaps it will always vary, according to each particular judge and jury,[1] as to what is “liberty” and what is “libel.” It is certain that the two cases in which Cobbett was involved, while a newspaper-writer in America, were decided without much consideration of their real merits. One went in his favour, the other against him; and both the prosecutions were undertaken, instigated by political rancour. We have got the better of this sort of thing, at last, in England; but only after much shame. And we are not perfect yet.
Mr. Cobbett’s career of “crime,” during these tumultuous days in Philadelphia, consisted in his being a genuine satirist. In this respect he was unapproachable by any of his scribbling brethren; and there lay the fundamental reasons for the hatred of those who were amongst his opponents. He had imported into the arena of political controversy the squibbing propensities of his great master, Jonathan Swift; and, armed with the results of his laborious study of grammar and logic, it was useless for any one to expect successfully to contend with him on his own ground. The weapons, therefore, to which they resorted were lies and filth of most abominable character. The phlegmatic, practical, native Pennsylvanian could sit and laugh over Porcupine’s hard hits, for they did not, as a rule, touch him. But the hot-blooded importations since the Revolution—soured with the mortified feelings occasioned by unwilling expatriation—rendered more and more violent by the intoxicating influence of French principles, and, to some extent, made reckless by the exigencies of change, were a different class. The vocabulary of personal abuse formed their resource. It is not very surprising, then, to find after a time some disposition, on the part of Cobbett, to yield to a similar indulgence in coarse language. Upon the whole, however, a perusal of his American writings does not justify the calumnious epithets which have been bestowed upon them. All true humourists, from Rabelais downwards, have suffered a similar penalty. The knave, even more than the fool, both fears and hates your lampooner, and can only resort to base imputations in the expectation that a part of his slime must stick. We, in these later days, will take to heart the maxim of Montesquieu: To judge justly of men, we must overlook the prejudices of their times. We know Mr. Cobbett to have been an earnest, honest, high-spirited man, whose whole life, both public and private, was governed by principles of conduct which were far in advance of his times; an uncorrupt politician, who may be placed by the side of Andrew Marvel; a husband and a parent, whose example cannot be excelled; in a day when most public writers had their price, and when the bonds of family ties were exceptionally loose.
The Chief Justice of the State of Pennsylvania, at this date, was one Thomas M’Kean: a violent democrat, and a somewhat unscrupulous character. Every democratic state, in the early stages of its history, is much like a simmering pot; and it is not improbable that Mr. M’Kean belonged to that portion of its contents which floats on the surface. Cobbett’s account of him is so bad, and the freedom with which he denounced him to his face was so uncompromising, that the historian would naturally hesitate to make any needless reference to the chronic feud which existed between them. At the period of the Revolution M’Kean had distinguished himself by cruelty to all political opponents, and particularly to any Quakers who ran foul of him.[2] Besides being hated for his partiality, he is alleged to have been a notorious drunkard; he had been horsewhipped by a fellow-citizen; and it was stated that a number of members of the bar had signed a memorial to the effect that “so great a drunkard was he that, after dinner, person and property were not safe in Pennsylvania.” According to Oliver Wolcott, a leading member of the Washington and Adams administrations, Peter Porcupine’s exposure of M’Kean was not by any means undeserved; and that he openly supported the seditious clubs which were ever seeking to undermine the Federal Constitution.[3] It is certain that Cobbett spared no pains to remind the public of the little defects in M’Kean’s character. The Chief Justice, therefore, made it his business to attend closely to the sayings and doings of Peter Porcupine.
He was not long in finding an opportunity which might serve to bring the latter within his power. The Chevalier D’Yrujo, envoy from Spain, had written a dictatorial letter to Pickering, Secretary of State, after the pattern of the French, and tending, likewise, to reduce the independence of the United States to a mere shadow. Mr. Cobbett at once undertakes to keep a vigilant eye upon the affair; and his Gazette gleams forth with such paragraphs as this: