In December 1763, another Scotchman, of the name of Alexander Dunn, obtained admission into Wilkes’s apartment; but being suspected of a design to assassinate him, he was immediately seized and searched, when a new large penknife was found in his pocket; which circumstance, coupled with a declaration which he had been heard to make, that he, and ten other sworn Scotch accomplices, had determined to cut Mr. Wilkes off, whatever might be the result, left little doubt of his intention. The papers found upon his person were laid before the House of Commons; but it was found upon further examination, that the man was deranged.
The duel of Wilkes with Lord Talbot was one of the first that occurred in the beginning of the reign of George III. Hostile meetings had now assumed a different character. Swords were no longer drawn in bagnios, taverns, and chocolate houses, on the spur of the moment, and public broils had ceased to become fashionable: since the wearing of side-arms had ceased to be customary, duels assumed a more regular and civilised form. The desperate conduct of the “bloods” and “bucks” of the day was no longer considered a proof of gentlemanlike bearing, and a man might be looked upon as fashionable without being what was called a hell-fire rake. The violence of party had now succeeded trifling dissentions and tavern quarrels; and political differences not unfrequently excited high feelings of animosity, which could only be tempered in the field: and in the following chapter we shall see that duels were but of too frequent occurrence during this momentous reign, a circumstance which we shall endeavour to account for.
CHAPTER II
Such was the frequent occurrence of duels in this long reign, that one hundred and seventy-two were fought (in which three hundred and forty-four persons were concerned); sixty-nine individuals were killed—in three of these fatal cases neither of the combatants survived; ninety-six were wounded, forty-eight of them desperately, and forty-eight slightly; while one hundred and seventy-nine escaped unhurt.
From this statement it will be seen, that rather more than one fifth of the combatants lost their lives, and that nearly one half received the bullets of their antagonists. It also appears, that only eighteen trials took place; that six of the arraigned individuals were acquitted; seven found guilty of manslaughter, and three of murder,—two of whom were executed, and eight imprisoned during different periods.
When we compare the frequency of duelling during this period and subsequent reigns, and at the same time consider how much more fatal these meetings generally proved, we are naturally led to inquire into the causes of this material difference and amelioration in the condition of society. Desirable indeed would it be, if this circumstance could be attributed to a better feeling in the upper classes, and a just detestation of a practice as absurd as it is inhuman; but it is to be feared, that the influence of fashion here had no inconsiderable share in the change of manners. Though many men pre-eminent in public estimation have sanctioned the practice by their example; yet how few are they compared with those of former times, where we find York, Norfolk, Richmond, Bellamont, Exmouth, Talbot, Townshend, Shelburne, Paget, Castlereagh, Petersham, Pitt, Fox, Sheridan, Canning, Tierney, and many others of rank and distinction! May not this circumstance be also in some measure attributed to the frequency of the virulent discussions, which have become so frequent during the constant struggles for power, when insults becoming, one may say, of daily occurrence, are rarely noticed? Has not the influence of the increased number of newspapers, many of which have been conducted with a degree of personal animosity, and we must say, ungentlemanly vituperation, rendered the use of offensive language so general as to have become a matter of course in political argument, and therefore rarely noticed, except by still more abusive recrimination? If such a latitude in degrading phraseology had been as generally prevalent in France, scarcely an editor would be now living to vindicate his excesses, by the satisfaction of pleading his antagonist’s death; the lie, the blow, which would once have required the fall of one of the parties, is now only resented by another accusation of falsehood, a second edition of a thrashing, or an action at law.
Of late years, the most unwarrantable parliamentary language has been apologized for, on the plea of its not having been allusive to private character, so that a legislator, or a minister, may be considered a political scoundrel, but a worthy individual member of society; guilty of a falsehood in the house, but devoted to the cause of truth beyond the purlieus of St. Stephen; faithful to all his engagements with the world, but a traitor to his country; for, after all, what is the language of opposition, but a strenuous endeavour to impugn an adversary’s veracity, to show, that for mere lucre or the vanity of possessing power and patronage, he betrays the most sacred trust reposed in him by his sovereign; that he hurries his country to perdition for the selfish motive of personal aggrandisement, and sacrifices the national weal for his own benefit and that of his family and dependants? can there be any insult offered to a man more pungent, more degrading? The lie, the blow, given in a moment of passionate ebullition, are trifling offences, when compared to such serious charges, which, if substantiated, should not only expose a man to universal contempt and detestation, but to the most ignoble death. When such impeachments are hourly, daily made, can we expect much sensitiveness when reciprocal abuse is bandied at the bar of the House, as well as at the bar of courts of justice? Pleaders consider themselves justifiable in using the bitterest, the most unwarrantable language. They dress for the character they perform in wig and gown; and fancy that when they have doffed their attributes, they withdraw from the stage, and have merely performed their part in the great drama of life. Then again, in the intemperate language of opposition, how often does galling necessity, and bitter disappointment in not obtaining office (when its emoluments are required, to keep the wolf from the postulant’s door), prompt the orator? and many a time perhaps an eloquent senator has drawn out the headings of his speech, on the back of an attorney’s threatening letter, and the evil day is ever put off with the usual promise of speedy liquidation “when the present people go out.”
Men, in a public sphere of life, are, to a certain extent, public property. Their actions are exposed to the scrutiny of the community at large. A writer, however galled his acute vanity may be, cannot consider the abuse lavished on his productions as a personal insult; and it is the same with the politician,—the invectives poured upon his public conduct are not esteemed as aspersions on his private character. A falsehood is considered an expedient evasion, an error; and a personal invective, a mere ebullition of eloquence, a bubbling over of the diplomatic cabinet, an opposition caldron, as heterogeneous and monstrous in its contents as that of the weird sisters.
These observations are not intended to condemn this philosophical view of the subject. Were these excesses noticed at the pistol’s muzzle, it would only be adding murder to corruption; and, as society is constituted, when an electioneering hustings may be oftentimes compared to a stall at Billinsgate, a candidate who seeks to vindicate what he is complacently pleased to call his honour, must indeed be a Quixotic character, when he in general conscientiously knows that every syllable of his address to the voters is void of veracity, and all his pledges futile and false.